


Harry Potter and the Hourwick of Oz

by Smoulder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Oz - L. Frank Baum
Genre: Gen, Land of Oz, Time Turner (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smoulder/pseuds/Smoulder
Summary: Magic is disappearing from the world, wizard by wizard. Harry, Ron and Hermione have to travel to the unknown Land of Oz, home of the most powerful magical beings in the world, to find out what’s happening and how to stop it.





	1. Gormenghast

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written not by me, but by my father. Naturally, it is not legally owned by either of us regardless.

The first recorded instance of a wizard’s magic completely disappearing was in the case of Ms. Enid McGrap, of 61 Neckwidge Lane, Ipswich, in late February of 1999. She never had a great deal of magic to begin with — in fact for some years when she was young it was feared she might be a squib, before she slipped on a piece of soap in the bathroom and accidentally turned her parents’ beautiful wrought-copper tub into a shapeless mass of rubber to break her fall — and, as a low-level HR record keeper in the Ministry of Magic, she had little need of magic professionally, and mainly used it to help clean her house and do odd chores. So she only noticed that her wand had stopped working when she tried to heat up a pot of tea early on a Sunday morning. She sat there, reading the Daily Prophet, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle, and waiting, and waiting… She continued reading, casting it increasingly annoyed looks, until she finally sighed in exasperation and went to check it. She was astonished to find it was completely cold.

She drew her wand and cast the warming charm, Focillo!, but still nothing happened. In desperation she tried again with Incendio!, but the kettle remained stone cold.

She stared in amazement at her wand and shook it desperately.

“Is this thing working?” she said. “Lumos!”

The wand remained as unresponsive as, well, as a stick of wood. She rapped it across her knuckles and even tapped it smartly on the table, as if the wand core were somehow stuck and just needed to be dislodged. “Lumos!” she cried desperately. “Lumos!”

She couldn’t make tea. She couldn’t make breakfast. Finally, sobbing and at her wit’s end, she tossed floo powder on the fire and called the Ministry of Magic’s Magical Accidents Hotline, crying that her wand had stopped working and she needed urgent assistance. The Ministry sent round doctors and investigators and found that her wand was just fine — in fact, several other wizards were able to cast simple cantrips with it. The problem, apparently, was with Ms McGrap. She was admitted to St Mungo’s for examination, and it was found that she was completely without magic. She had become a squib after all.

Ms McGrap was the first, but she was definitely not the last. There were a smattering of other cases, reported with gradually increasing frequency across England, France, America, and other places in the wizarding world. The first high-profile case was of Dr Furist Leach of St Mungo’s, who was “struck squib” (as the Prophet described it) in the midst of a complex operation to cure a construction worker who had become splinched with his lunchbox when Apparating to his lunch break. Dr Leach was one of the most talented and skilled doctors at St Mungo’s, and when his wand stopped working, three other doctors had to quickly step in to complete the operation. The construction worker was fine, and was sent home the following day; but Dr Leach remained at St Mungo’s under examination. The doctors were unable to find any trace of magical ability within him at all. The malady was officially named “Leach’s Syndrome” after the unfortunate patient, although the press and most other people continued to call it being “struck squib”.

And Leach’s Syndrome continued to spread. Workers found that they could not Apparate home at the end of the day. People on broomsticks suddenly found that they could not control their flight, and had to be gently caught and brought down by the police. Some physically disabled wizards, such as Silvanus Kettleburn, famous former Care of Magical Creatures Professor at Hogwarts, became unable to live their everyday lives without constant assistance. Ministry Police officers were struck squib in the midst of law enforcement operations, frequently endangering their lives.

At first there was speculation at the Ministry that the rapidly-spreading Syndrome was the work of dark wizards, but this theory was quickly put to rest when it became clear that dark wizards were just as likely to be afflicted. The most famous case, and the one which rapidly revealed the source of the epidemic, was of the Dark Wizard Gormanghast, whose magic abruptly disappeared in the early hours of the morning of August 9, 1999. With his repulsion charms and illusion spells stripped away, it was discovered that he had been living just three miles outside of London (not far from Bloomsbury) in a gigantic black monolithic castle perched atop a high mountain bluff. The castle, bluff, and mountain had all been hidden for almost a thousand years by Gormenghast’s dark magic, while Viking armies marched past, the British Empire rose and fell, Nazi bombers flew overhead, and London grew from a small riverside town to one of the largest metropolises in the world.

As soon as Gormenghast’s illusion spells were gone, the Ministry had to set them right up again. It wouldn’t do to let the Muggles know there’d been a mountain hiding in the suburbs of London all this time. As it was, the Ministry were completely caught off guard, and it took almost half an hour to restore the illusion. Fortunately it had happened early in the morning, when most muggles were asleep. Nevertheless the Ministry needed to get control of the situation as quickly as possible, and that meant sending their best people to investigate immediately.

Harry, Ron and Neville flew high over London on their broomsticks in late mid-morning, about six hours after Gormanghast Castle had appeared. It was a warm grey morning, with no rain, but a heavy blanket of slate clouds that only occasionally parted for a snatch of pale sun. There had been some argument over the best way to approach — Neville favored on foot, reasoning that they’d be less visible targets — but Harry and Ron disagreed, saying that it was more important to have a good view of the castle and grounds as they made their approach. The Ministry’s concealment spells were in full effect, but once they breached the magical perimeter they’d be able to see everything spread out below them.

“There’s something about that name,” said Neville. “Gormanghast. It seems familiar. Wasn’t that a book or something?”

“Hermione said it was a book, yeah,” said Ron. “Got made into a muggle movie or tv show or something, too. A fantasy novel. She said Gormanghast Castle was a massive thing, bigger than Hogwarts, with all these winding hallways and secret passages, and a family that had ruled there for thousands of years. There were hundreds of servants, and they all followed these super arcane and complicated rituals all the time. The author, I forget his name, he wrote three books about the place and then went mad.”

“Seriously?” said Harry. “That’s intense. Do you think he knew anything about this place? Or was it just coincidence?”

“She said the author apparently had actually accidentally found the castle, stumbled into it one day. Usually the Dark Wizard just killed whatever muggles made it inside, but this one, for some reason, he took pity on him or something — he just let him go. At least that’s what happened according to that house elf she questioned.”

The house elf had been captured by the Ministry while they were hurriedly re-establishing the castle’s concealment spells. The elf, a young female named Aftry, had been very reluctant to talk, but Hermione had a way with them and had gotten a lot of information out of her, including the number of house elves in the Castle (over ten dozen) and the name of the castle and the dark wizard himself.

“There it is,” said Harry. “I see it.”

The peaceful, green suburbs of London parted below them, and a huge mountain thrust up, seeming to push the landscape aside like a blackened stump ripping up through a picnic blanket. It rose maybe five hundred feet high, its sheer rocky sides spattered with shrubs and patches of ivy, and a flat top mounded over with a sprawling walled castle that looked like it was built of the same black rock as the mountain.

Neville whistled. “And he kept that secret for a thousand years?”

“He must have been crazy powerful,” said Harry. “Maybe the most powerful wizard ever. Remember, the elf said he’d been alive all that time, too. Immortal, I guess.”

“Did he have a Philosopher’s Stone?” asked Neville.

“Hermione said the elf didn’t know,” said Ron.

“So he just sat there in his castle all that time?” said Neville. “Just hiding?”

“I guess so,” said Harry. “Until he was struck squib.”

By unspoken agreement, they circled around the castle. Harry did his best to see any sign of activity in the jumble of turrets and roofs below. It looked kind of like a bunch of ramshackle old stone medieval buildings had been rounded up and roughly herded into the castle’s encircling wall. He couldn’t see anyone moving down there.

“So what do you think?” said Neville. “I don’t see anything.”

“Well,” said Harry, “I guess we could find somewhere to land and just, you know, knock on a door.”

“Sounds good,” said Neville.

“Dragon dung,” said Ron. “I’m going in. Cover me.” And without glancing at them, he dipped his broomstick down and plunged headlong towards the nearest building, fifty feet below.

“Ron, no!” cried Harry and Neville together, as they scrambled to follow, digging their wands out of their pockets.

“Dammit,” said Neville. “What is he thinking?”

“He’s been doing this more and more recently,” said Harry grimly. “He’s going to get himself hurt if he doesn’t —“

They were in time to see Ron disappear into a large window in the side of one of the larger towers. They heard a huge BOOM like an earthquake, and the whole tower seemed to shake. Harry was sure it was going to collapse on Ron before they had a chance to get him out of there. He plunged in, Neville right behind him.

They were in a large room, made completely of black stone on walls, floor, and ceiling, and draped with rotting, faded tapestries. Old crumbling wooden furniture lined the walls. The place smelled absolutely foul, thick with the stench of rotting garbage and the distinctive sharp sour scent of unwashed house-elf. It was dim, dusty, and difficult to see, but as Harry landed he could make out what looked like a pile of rocks in the middle of the room, and Ron in the middle of it, cursing struggling to free himself. It looked like his broomstick was broken.

“Lumos!” cried Neville, landing next to Harry.

At first it looked as though the spell hadn’t really worked; all the point of light on Neville’s wand seemed to do was illuminate clouds of dust. But then Harry started to pick out shapes in the shadows: house elves. Three… no, five… no, ten…nn“Neville,” hissed Harry, “go for backup!” He lit his wand as well.

“What?” said Neville

“Go get HELF!”

“Help?”

“No, HELF! Hermione’s elves!”

“Oh, the House Elf Liaison Force! Right, got it!” And he was off.

Harry took a few steps towards Ron. The house elves were slowly moving closer, muttering or chanting in low voices. Ron was just about free of the pile of rocks, but there were house elves already clambering up toward him. He brandished his wand. “Stand back!” he said.

“Get away from him!” shouted Harry. His mind raced. What could he do against house elves? They were very powerful, and unlike wizards, they didn’t use wands, so they couldn’t be disarmed. They were supposed to serve wizards; they wouldn’t hurt Ron directly, really, would they?

“Stupefy!” he cried. The hex blasted from his wand as he swept it in a curve, hitting all the elves on the rock pile — and, unfortunately, Ron as well. He’d managed to stand up on top of the rocks, so he avoided being knocked out, but the spell tripped him up, and he tumbled down the pile, falling in a heap on the floor.

Some of the elves on the pile staggered back, but most did not. Their eyes turned to Harry, glowing in the light of the open window behind him. One of them stepped forward towards him, raising its hands and baring its teeth. Harry noticed that its teeth were oddly sharp, and its hands had long, needle-like fingernails. It looked almost more like a goblin than an elf.

“Now you watch it,” he said. “I’m Harry Potter, from the Division of Magical Enforcement, and — “

“Gormenghast avaege acu,” hissed the elf, and blue-white energy swirled from its fingers. Harry tried to shout “Protego!” but it was too late; the energy wrapped itself around him in a tight embrace, locking his hands to his sides and forcing his mouth shut.

Ron tried to struggle to his feet, but the elf, still holding Harry motionless with one hand, reached out with its other and cast another blue-white energy net, binding him tight. Ron writhed and struggled on the ground.

Then Harry saw, at the other end of the room, a door opening. He hadn’t noticed it before because of the dim, smoky air, but there a red firelight came from behind the door as it opened, and a black, hunched figure came through it. The figure shuffled painfully forward towards Harry and Ron, and the house elves parted for it. Other elves, Harry could now see, were walking alongside it, supporting it, helping it along.

It tottered over to Ron, and as it came more into the light Harry could see that it was an incredibly old man, bent double with age, his waist-length beard so white it looked like thin curling strands of bone.

The old man lifted a wand with shaking hand, and pointed it at Ron.

“Het ye done this te me?” he creaked.

Ron tried to answer, desperately attempting to shake his head no, but like Harry he was bound too tight to move, and his mouth was closed shut.

“En Cruciate!” cried the old man, and Harry flinched — it wasn’t exactly the Cruciatus curse, but Harry could guess that maybe it was an older form of it, and it would probably have the same effect. Poor Ron…

But nothing happened. The old man shook his wand and cried out unintelligibly, but still, there was no effect at all. He’d been struck squib, all right.

Finally, he screamed incoherently at his house elves, and they obliged. Three of the twisted creatures stepped forward, and silently gestured at Ron in unison. Ron still couldn’t scream — his locked jaw wouldn’t let him — but he twisted and writhed, and emitted a high-pitched, shuddering, animal-like moan unlike anything Harry had ever heard before.

Then from behind him he heard Hermione scream, “Stupefy!” Her spell shot past him and struck one of the house elves, knocking it back into the other two and sending all three sprawling. Gormenghast collapsed. Now Hermione was landing next to him and hopping off her broomstick, casting more Stupefies in quick succession; and Neville was landing too, following suit; and now dozens of Ministry house elves were Apparating with a thunderous cacophony, casting attack spells of every kind. Gormenghast’s house elves quickly rallied, however, and battle was joined.

Harry’s bindings disappeared, and he crawled over to Ron, who appeared to have passed out. Lying next to him was Gormenghast, breathing hard, looking up at Harry with frightened watery eyes. Two of his house elves were fallen next to him, knocked out while desperately trying to fight off the assault.

“Call off your elves!” said Harry. He tried to point at Gormenghast with a steady hand. “Call them off!”

Gormenghast shook his head, apparently not understanding. Did he speak Old English or something? Harry wondered if even Hermione would know how to communicate with him…

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the dark wizard’s fallen house elves acting very strangely. It was lying next to Gormenghast as if knocked out, but it was slowly and stealthily reaching towards something hanging around its neck.

It was a Time Turner!

“Oh no you don’t!” cried Harry. “Immobulus! Immobulus!”

The elf stopped, its features frozen in a look of utter hatred and frustration. Harry breathed out in relief. With a Time Turner, the elf could have gone back and changed the past. Gormenghast’s elves wouldn’t have been caught by surprise this time.

But, in fact, had they been caught by surprise? After all, they’d arranged some kind of rock fall or ceiling collapse to happen right when Ron flew in the window. Maybe this wasn’t the first time that Time Turner had been turned…

Well, he’d stopped it this time. But they could still lose unless Harry managed to convince Gormenghast to surrender.

“Stop this!” Harry shouted at Gormenghast. “Give up! Surrender!” He racked his brains to come up with some other words that the dark wizard might understand. The wizard looked frightened; he would probably agree if only Harry could get the idea across to him. “Yield! Capitulate! Relent! Submit! Abdicate! Forswear! Concede!”

“Concedo,” muttered Gormenghast. “Concedo.” And then louder: “Concedus! Concedus! Ons geifan et off!”

And slowly, reluctantly, his house elves lowered their hands and bowed their heads in defeat.


	2. The Magic Thieves

“The question is,” said Hermione, “where did you get it?”

She was holding the Time Turner up to the light. They were in the Ministry Infirmary’s High Security Devision, where sick and injured prisoners were brought. Gormanghast’s house elf, Trottie, lay on a hospital bed under bright lights, guarded by three house elves from Hermione’s House Elf Liaison Force (including Harry’s own house elf, Kreacher) and locked down with anti-Apparition shackles. Hermione had cast a Polytongue spell on her so that she could speak something approaching modern English. She was squinting up at Hermione, looking angry but defeated.

“Trottie shall not say,” said Trottie.

“We can make you talk,” said Ron, waggling his wand threateningly. He and Harry had just come over from the Care of Magical Items Department, where they’d repaired Ron’s wand. (It was the third time he’d had to ask them this month, and they were getting a little sarcastic about it.)

“Please, Ron,” said Hermione. “Threatening people is no way to establish trust.” She turned to Trottie. “Look, we’re on your side. We’re just trying to help you. We know you were only trying to protect your Master. No one blames you for that. But these Time Turners are very valuable and they’re a controlled magical item. We need to know how you got it.”

And how were you allowed to have one when you were a third year at Hogwarts? thought Harry. And weren’t all the Time Turners destroyed when Voldemort attacked the Ministry? But there was no time to get into that now.

Trottie closed her eyes, squeezed her lips shut, and shook her head firmly.

Hermione sighed. “All right. Why do you have this, then, Trottie? Why did you have a Time Turner?”

Trottie opened her eyes and looked around nervously. It seemed as though she wanted to answer, but wasn’t sure if she should.

“Answer the nice woman, Trottie,” said one of the HELF gently. “Gormanghast said all his elves should be nice and help the Ministry.”

“Is that true?” hissed Ron in Harry’s ear.

“Not sure,” whispered Harry. “I think when his magic gave out, he suddenly turned incredibly old. I’m pretty sure he’s almost dead. He’s not saying much.”

Trottie still looked uncertain, but apparently decided to chance it. “Trottie had herself to get the Hourwick, not so? Trottie had to. For the Master to save.”

“Hourwick?” said Ron

“It’s the older name of the Time Turners,” said Hermione. “They were invented about fifteen years ago by Chronotis Satyrn, an old eccentric wizard from over in Wales. He called them ‘hour wicks’, I’m not sure why. Everyone else calls them Time Turners. Of course there had been time travel experiments and spells before then, but Time Turners were the first magical devices. I read about that a few years ago when I — ”

“Thanks, Hermione,” interrupted Ron. Hermione scowled at him. “Trottie, did Gormenghast know this Satyrn guy?”

“Master Gormenghast knew of the Wizard Satyrn, ay,” said Trottie. “Gormenghast knew everything. He willed that he an Hourwick himself to have.”

“So he ordered you to get one?” asked Hermione.

“Oh ne, ne,” said Trottie. “Too dangerous should that be. Master Gormenghast would ne put his servants in danger. He had us ordered ne to get one, ne, ordered us ne to.”

“But you did anyway,” said Hermione. “Because you felt you had to. To save him?”

“Ay,” said Trottie, sighing. “We had ourselves to punish each other, most grievous.”

Hermione nodded. “Ok. What were you trying to save him from?”

Trottie’s eyes filled with tears. “Master Gormenghast would be his magic losing. We could feel it. We had him to save.”

“So you could tell he was going to be struck squib?” said Harry excitedly. “Really?” A thought struck him. “Can you tell when any wizard is going to be struck squib?”

Trottie didn’t look like she understood. The other house elves looked at each other and then looked at their feet.

“Wait a minute,” demanded Hermione. She looked round at the house elves accusingly. “You all can tell, can’t you? All of you house elves, you can tell when a wizard is going to get Leach’s Syndrome?”

They didn’t answer.

Harry rounded on Kreacher. “Kreacher! I order you to tell me if house elves can tell when a wizard is going to lose their magic!”

Kreacher looked miserable and wrung his hands and twisted his mouth up. “Aye, house elves can tell,” he said, sounding anguished.

“How?” demanded Ron.

Kreacher squinted his eyes shut and shook his head vigorously.

“Us have done it,” said Trottie sadly.

There was a short silence, and then in unison, Harry, Ron, and Hermione said, “What?!”

“Us have the magic taken,” said Trottie. She looked forlorn and guilty. “We have so bad, so sorry for the Masters, we felt us. But we had to, we had to. She said. So thus we did.”

“You’ve been taking magic from the wizards?” cried Hermione, flabbergasted. “How? Why?”

“She said,” said Trottie again. “So thus we did.”

“Who?” demanded Hermione. “Who is ‘she’?”

Trottie shook her head. “I mayn’t say,” she said.

“Kreacher!” cried Harry. “Did you know this? And you didn’t say?”

“Kreacher knew,” said Kreacher miserably. “But is secret, it is, Master! Kreacher was not allowed to tell! — And now Kreacher has told,” he muttered. “Has told, has told, he’ll have to be punished, yes he will.”

“Kreacher,” sighed Harry, “please don’t punish yourself. I’ve told you many, many times, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Who told you not to tell?” said Ron.

“She did, of course,” said Kreacher.

“Who is ‘she’?” asked Harry. “Kreacher, I order you to tell me who she is!”

But Kreacher stopped up his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head frantically. “Mustn’t tell! Mustn’t tell!” he muttered.

“If the elves are the ones stealing magic,” mused Hermione, “that’s really bad news. Not all the wizards who’ve been struck squib have house elves, which means maybe they can take magic from anyone they like, no matter how far away they are. So arresting them, locking them up, might not do any good. And anyway, it’s not like we can just round them all up and imprison them. There must be, I don’t know, hundreds of thousands of them.”

Harry had a sinking feeling in his gut. If they couldn’t be stopped, and they couldn’t be convinced to stop, then what could be done? Harry could only think of one solution… a horrible one.

“This is getting us nowhere,” said Hermione briskly. “We need more information. Trottie, why did you get the Hourwick? For what purpose?”

Trottie licked her lips. “The Hourwick, it much much magic has,” she said. “So much magic. We thought — we thought we could magic from them take, instead of magic from the Master. The Hourwicks, we could them all destroy. And then maybe enough magic would be for the Master.”

“Ok,” said Hermione. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“But that would mean there’s only a limited amount of magic in the world,” said Harry. “Is that true?”

“Not as far as I know,” said Hermione. “I don’t think anyone knows for sure. But what’s important, really, is whether the house elves believe that. If they believe there’s only a limited amount of magic, then destroying powerful magical items, like Time Turners, might make sense.”

“But that means that the house elves are taking the magic and using it for something?” asked Harry. “For what?”

“I may na say,” said Trottie.

“I’m going to wring her little neck,” said Ron.

“Where did you get the Hourwick, Trottie?” demanded Hermione. “At least answer me that.”

“I may na say,” said Trottie. And as Ron lunged forward, hands outstretched, she squealed, “No, please! I may na say! I may na say!”

“Never mind, Ron,” said Hermione, holding him back. “We’ll figure it out. She must have stolen it from the Department of Mysteries.”

“So there are some left?” asked Harry.

“A few,” said Hermione. “They’re extremely well-guarded.”

“Even from house elves?” asked Harry. “They can Apparate in and out of plenty of places that wizards can’t.”

“Even from house elves,” said Hermione. “Kreacher here helped check the department’s defenses just a few months ago.”

Kreacher cleared his throat and looked at his feet. “Kreacher checked the defenses, yes, he did,” he said.

Something in his tone rang an alarm bell in Harry’s mind. “Kreacher, you checked them, but were they secure?”

“The defenses were secure, Master Harry,” said Kreacher, still not looking at him. “The defenses were just fine. Nothing wrong with them.”

“So the defenses were fine,” said Harry, “but did they work? Would those defenses keep House Elves out of the Department of Mysteries?”

Kreacher looked at his feet and said something inaudible.

They all looked at each other.

“We have to get over there,” said Hermione. “Now.”


	3. The Last Hourwicks

**The Last Hourwicks**

It was absolutely silent. Harry and the others crept down the long black-tiled corridor towards the round room of doors at the entrance of the Department of Mysteries.

It had actually taken them a few hours to arrive, because they’d quickly realized they needed to prepare properly. If there were a bunch of house elves down there trying to steal Time Turners, the wizards would need backup. They’d called Luna, since she was developing a real knack for dealing with magical creatures, and she’d insisted on bringing her mentor Silvanus Kettleburn (he was, she said, a world-renowned expert on house elves), even though he himself had been struck squib and, because of his various missing limbs, could only move about with Luna’s assistance. Kettleburn could no longer Apparate himself, so Luna asked Hagrid to bring him on a thestral; and that took quite some time. It was then decided that Hagrid should come along too (or more accurately, he refused to be left behind), and he had to be brought up to speed on everything. Then, when they had all been checked in and issued badges and assembled in the main hall of the Ministry, they (the six humans and six of Hermione’s HELF) had taken ten minutes or so to agree on a plan of assault. In the end there was really only one reasonable way to proceed: to take the elevator to the ninth level and enter the Time Room as quickly and quietly as possible, taking the house elves by surprise. Any other plan would be too dangerous or would alert the elves (if there were any down there) to their presence too soon.

Even this plan was insanely dangerous, and most likely any house elves down there would know they were coming very soon. Not only were house elves ridiculously powerful beings, but with Time Turners, who knows what they could do?

“The first thing to do,” said Kettleburn, “is to order them to give up.”

“Will that work?” asked Harry.

Kettleburn shrugged. “It’s worth a try. House elves, as you know, are extremely loyal. Whatever orders they have from Her — whoever She is — might be overwhelmed by the sight of six wizards ordering them to stand down.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

Kettleburn smiled wryly. “Let’s just hope that it works.”

“Why are Time Turners kept down here under lock and key?” Harry whispered to Hermione as they quietly tiptoed down the passage. (That is, they were all quiet except for Hagrid, who was shuffling uncomfortably in the tight corridor and occasionally loudly whispering “Sorry! Excuse me!” when he bumped into someone, and Kettleburn, whose homemade prosthetic limbs made unfortunate clicking and clanking noises as he walked, leaning heavily on Luna.) “They can’t be that dangerous. You were allowed to have one back in school.”

“Actually,” said Hermione, “that was a mistake. Remember, they were only invented about fifteen years ago. It wasn’t realized how powerful they were, or how much magic they used. Shortly after we had our little… adventure with Buckbeak, the Ministry found out more about them and decided they should be locked away forever. They won’t make any more.”

“They’re that powerful, huh?” said Harry.

“Yes. And they just get more magical. Every time one is used, the amount of magic they store doubles. No one really knows why.”

“Maybe that’s why Voldemort never tried to get one,” said Harry. “He was afraid if he had that much magic he’d be detected.”

Hermione shook her head. “When he was in charge of the Ministry, he didn’t really care about being detected,” she said. “I don’t think anyone knows why he didn’t use them. Maybe he knew something about them that we don’t.”

They arrived at the black room of spinning doors. Hermione called them all close together into a huddle.

“Ok,” she whispered. “Hopefully no one will be there. Or maybe they’ve already all been stolen.”

“We know Gormenghast’s elves stole one,” said Ron. “They’re probably all long gone.”

“Maybe,” said Kettleburn. “But from what I know about house elves, it wouldn’t be typical for them all to be planning some big operation and working together. Probably small groups of them, from the households of other wizards, are independently trying to destroy powerful magical items.”

“Or maybe Gormenghast’s elves are the only ones who thought of it,” said Luna.

“That’s not likely,” said Ron darkly. “It certainly seemed like Kreacher thought of it.”

“And you folks,” said Hermione, frowning at Kreacher and the other members of HELF, “are being awfully unhelpful.”

“We’re terribly sorry, Mistress Granger,” said one house elf. “We will help you in any way we can, with all our hearts, unless it goes against Her orders.”

“Whoever She is,” muttered Ron.

“Good,” said Hermione. “Because if there are other house elves in there, and they won’t give up quietly, we might need you to save our lives. …Are you ready?”

“Yes, Mistress Granger,” the house elves answered with their bright, eager voices, all in unison. Harry thought he had never been so creeped out by anything in his life.

“Then what are we waiting for!” cried Ron, and he jabbed his wand at the doors. “Apere Chronus!” he cried, and one of the doors on their left popped open.

“Wait, Ron, no!” cried Hermione.

A blast of blue-white light erupted from the door, hitting them all with concussive force. It was as if the air went solid and slammed into them. Harry caught a glimpse of half a dozen house elves inside the Time Room — completely normal-looking house elves, not Gormanghast’s weird half-goblins, with their hands up towards them — and he went sprawling on the slick polished black floor.

He struggled to get to his feet, but before he could properly stand, the house elves hit them with another air blast. He gave up trying to stand, and just rolled onto his stomach. That would have given him a good view of the elves in the Time Room, except that Hagrid, who had not fallen, was shouting incoherently and shaking his fists, right in his line of vision.

“Hagrid!” shouted Harry. “Move!”

He meant for Hagrid to just move out of the way, but Hagrid had other ideas. “Right you are, Harry,” he said, and lumbered forward toward the elves, hands outstretched.

“Watch out, Hagrid!” cried Hermione.

Harry couldn’t see much — Hagrid’s bulk was still blocking everything — but he saw the huge man silhouetted against a blaze of greenish light, and Hagrid staggered, stumbled, and fell.

Fortunately, somehow, he fell forward, straight through the door to the Time Room, where there were half a dozen house elves there to break his fall. There was a shuddering crash, a sound of snapping, smashing wood, high-pitched squeals of house elves and four thunderous claps, and then silence.

Harry finally managed to stand up. “Hagrid! Hagrid!” he cried. “Are you ok?”

Hagrid moaned. “Oh boy,” he said. From somewhere under him came other moans, much more high-pitched. “I’m fine,” he said. “Ow, what did they hit me with? Some kind of headache spell?”

The wizards rushed forward into the Time Room, Luna supporting Kettleburn. As Harry remembered from his last time here, it was filled with diamond-sparkling light, and its walls and bookcases were filled with clocks of every shape and description. The ticking of the clocks rattled in their ears. Two things were conspicuously missing: the glass-fronted case of Time Turners, and the crystal bell jar of Time. Hagrid had fallen on a table and smashed it, and under him were two house elves, struggling feebly under his weight.  
  
“Hold them tight, Hagrid,” said Hermione, as he sat up. “Then they won’t be able to Apparate away without taking you with them, and I’m guessing they won’t want to do that.”

“Where are the Time Turners?” asked Ron.

“There,” said Hermione grimly, pointing with her wand. At the far end of the room was something new: a huge refrigerator-sized black safe, its door covered with a dozen different locks, bolts and fasteners of every description. The door was open, and inside were six small, innocent-looking Time Turners.

“Where’s the seventh?” said Hermione. “There should be seven!”

“Look at Hagrid!” cried Ron.

Hagrid had one house elf in each huge hand. One struggled limply, seeming half-dazed. The other, however, was desperately knocking its two scrawny hands together, as if trying to smash something in its palm.

“Stupefy!” cried Hermione, and her blast caused the house elf to immediately go limp. From its fingers fell a Time Turner, tumbling towards the floor. Harry and Ron both dove to try and catch it. Harry’s outstretched palm was right in place for him to clasp it — it was much easier than catching a Snitch, after all — but then Ron crashed into him, and they rolled together over and over on the floor and up against the wall.

“Dammit, Ron!” shouted Harry. He struggled to his feet. “What has gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me?” cried Ron. “You’re the one acting crazy! You’re either rushing around getting in everyone’s way, or you’re just standing there like a dope when you should be doing something!”

“I had that Time Turner, Ron,” said Harry. “I was just about to catch it, and you knocked me away. And why on earth did you open the door to this room before we were ready? What was that crazy stunt about?”

“It was me who was about to catch it!” said Ron. “But you’re too busy thinking about what you’re doing to pay attention to anyone else — “

“Ron! Harry!” said Hermione. “Stop it! We’ve got more important problems! Where has Kettleburn gone?”

Harry looked around desperately. There was no sign of him.

“Kettleburn?” asked Ron. “Kettleburn who?”

“Silvanus Kettleburn!” said Luna. “The world-famous Magizoologist! He was right here!”

“Wait,” said Hermione. “Was he? Now I seem to remember he wasn’t…”

“I definitely remember him,” said Harry, but then suddenly doubted himself. He did remember seeing Kettleburn there — in fact he could remember it quite vividly, at least at first… but the more he probed his memory, the more it seemed to slip away, as if he were only a dream. The memories faded faster than he could grab hold of them.

They all stood there, silently trying to remember.

“I don’t know,” said Harry at last. “Now all I can remember is that I did remember him, a moment ago. But I don’t even think I know what he looks like anymore.”

“The past was changed,” whispered Kreacher. “Changed it was, yes. When the Time Turner was destroyed.”

“What?” whispered Hermione.

“The witch didn’t know,” muttered Kreacher to himself. “She didn’t know. They didn’t tell her.”

“Very secretive,” said another elf, nodding. “The Ministry. Very secretive.”

“Explain this,” demanded Hermione. “When a Time Turner is destroyed, the past changes?”

“They are very dangerous,” said Kreacher. “Kreacher will explain. The Time Turner lets you change the past, but only as long as that Time Turner exists. If it is destroyed, the past changes back.”

Harry’s skin began to crawl. He didn’t know where Kreacher’s explanation was going, but he felt like it could not be good.

“It is like a river, yes?” said Kreacher. “Time is a river. The Time Turner puts a rock in the river, changes the river’s flow. The river goes somewhere new. And then, if the Time Turner is destroyed, the river goes back to its old flow.”

“Oh my god,” said Hermione. Her face was frozen in horrified shock. She sat down heavily, staring straight ahead.

“But that would mean…” said Ron.

“Every time the Time Turner is used,” said Kreacher, “another rock is put in the river. The flow changes again. And every time the Time Turner is used, it uses more magic to keep the rocks in place.”

“All the times I used that Time Turner in school,” breathed Hermione.

Harry’s veins flowed with ice.

“I would be dead now,” he said. “Without that Time Turner, Sirius and I would have been killed by those Dementors.”

“So if that particular Time Turner is destroyed,” said Hermione, “then Harry will die?”

Kreacher looked from Harry to Hermione and back, then nodded and lowered his eyes.


	4. Ungitink

**Ungitink**

Harry looked at the six innocent-looking Time Turners remaining in the vault. “The one that’s keeping me alive must be one of those,” he said.

Hermione nodded. “Not just you,” she said. “Everyone you’ve helped. Everyone you’ve saved. Without you, who would have trained Dumbledore’s Army? Who would have killed Voldemort? That Time Turner is more valuable than anything else in the world.”

“That’s why they’re so dangerous,” said Harry. “Why the ones that are left have to be guarded so carefully. Even Voldemort didn’t dare use them. If he’d used one, and then that Time Turner was destroyed, anything he’d done would be undone.”

Hermione nodded. She stepped over to the safe and gently picked one up. “They’ve all been labeled,” she said. “Here it is, Harry. Sixth of June, 1994. That was the last time this one was used. The night we visited the Shrieking Shack.”

“Is… is Kettleburn still alive?” asked Luna hesitantly. “I don’t remember him being here anymore either. But I also don’t remember him dying.”

“Memories of the other past fade,” said Kreacher. “The true memories replace them.”

“I remember…” said Luna. “I thought about asking Kettleburn to come, but he was too ill. He’d been badly burned in that fire at Hogwarts — you know, the one that happened a few years before we started there.”

They all nodded, remembering. The fire had started in the Great Hall (hardly surprising, considering all those hundreds of floating candles) and spread quickly along rugs and tapestries throughout half the castle before it was controlled. No one had been permanently injured other than Kettleburn (who had been badly hurt nobly fighting the flames that were threatening his collection of Ambulatory Gurdyroots), but dozens of priceless books and scrolls had been lost when the fire reached the library.

“Do you suppose,” said Hermione, “that someone used a Time Turner to go back and prevent that fire? And then that house elf destroyed it?”

“Then Kettleburn wouldn’t have been hurt, and he could have come with us today,” said Luna, nodding. “Makes sense.”

“So we have to defend these Time Turners at all costs,” said Harry. “But how? If all the house elves want to destroy them for their magic, it’s only a matter of time before they break through these defenses again. How on earth can we defend them?”

For a moment they all looked at each other silently, hopelessly.

“Kreacher,” said Harry at last, and he knelt down next to the ancient house elf. “We have been friends a long time, haven’t we?”

“Friends,” said Kreacher, his voice shaking. He blinked, and his weary old eyes teared up a bit.

“Kreacher, we have to save those Time Turners, don’t we? Otherwise I will die, and Voldemort will be back. That would be terrible, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?”

Kreacher nodded. “Terrible,” he whispered.

“Then help us, Kreacher, please,” said Harry. “What should we do? What can we do?”

Kreacher shook his head. “Kreacher does not know,” he said, and a single tear dropped down his cheek. “All Kreacher knows is that we have orders… from Her.”

“So because of these orders,” said Hermione, “more Time Turners must be destroyed. And more wizards will become squibs. Is that right, Kreacher?”

Kreacher nodded, his eyes squeezed shut tight, his body shaken by massive sobs.

“Mistress,” said another of the HELF elves, “we do not know much of this. But maybe you should ask him.” And the elf pointed at one of the house elves in Hagrid’s massive hands.

The elf who had been trying to smash the Time Turner was still knocked out, having just taken the full force of Hermione’s Stupefy, but the other was shaking his head and coming round. His thin, papery skin showed he was extremely old — perhaps even older than Kreacher — but, unlike Kreacher, he clearly cared a great deal for his appearance: the wisps of hair on his head were dyed black and carefully combed, and he had tiny gold earrings and a small goatee. Even his fingernails were painted wine-red.

“Hold tight to him, Hagrid,” warned Hermione.

“Right you are, Hermione,” growled Hagrid. “He won’t go anywhere without taking me with him.”

“You!” said Harry, pointing his wand at the blinking elf. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The old elf focused his eyes on Harry, and then appeared to recognize him. “It is Harry Potter!” he whispered in surprise. He writhed in Hagrid’s grip, and squeaked a bit when he found himself tightly gripped.

“Answer me!” demanded Harry.

“Mustn’t,” said the elf. He looked away, not meeting Harry’s gaze. “Ungitink must not answer. She would be angry.”

“Well, SHE isn’t here!” cried Ron. “But I am, and I’ve about had it with you elves!”

“Actually, he did answer one question,” said Hermione. “His name is Ungitink.”

“It’s a strange name for a house-elf,” said Luna. “And did you notice his accent? I don’t think he’s from England.”

“Where are you from?” said Harry.

Ungitink looked uncertain, looking back and forth from one to another.

“Ungitink,” said Luna gently, “did someone give you explicit orders not to answer questions?”

Ungitink slowly shook his head no.

“Well then,” said Luna brightly, “that probably means you can answer us. After all, for all you know, we might want to help you. Maybe we’re on your side. You are here to destroy Time Turners, aren’t you?”

“We’re bloody well not —“ muttered Ron, but Harry shushed him.

“Yes,” said Ungitink uncertainly. “She ordered us to come, to destroy them. To get the magic.” Now that he was paying attention, Harry could tell that Ungitink definitely had a strong accent, but he couldn’t place it. It definitely wasn’t Scottish or American… maybe Australian?

“Where are you from?” asked Luna.

“We are from the Kingdom of Rinkitink,” said Ungitink proudly. He lifted his chin, folded his arms, and looked as haughty as he could, considering that Hagrid was holding him five feet above the ground. “Ungitink is the High Grending of the Elves of Rinkitink. Ungitink serves the King himself.”

“What’s a ‘Grending’?” whispered Ron. “And where is the Kingdom of Rinkitink?”

“No clue,” whispered Harry back.

“I have never heard of Rinkitink,” said Luna. “What can you tell us about it?”

“It is a mighty kingdom,” said Ungitink. “Peaceful and prosperous. It lies between the Nonestic Ocean and the Land of Ev. The King rules from his palace in the capital, Gilgad.”   
  
“And did the King order you to come here?” asked Luna.

Ungitink looked a little uncertain. “No,” he admitted. “The King does not know our mission. The orders came from… from Her.”

“And who is ‘She’?” asked Luna.

Ungitink shook his head. “Ungitink may not tell,” he said.

Ron threw up his hands in exasperation. “Back to that again!” he said. “How can we figure out who She is? Would Veritaserum work?”

“Probably not,” mused Hermione. “House elves have immunity to many human-made potions. But maybe we can figure this out. There are lots of other threads we can pull… — Ungitink, tell us more about your kingdom. If the King had known of your mission, would he have tried to stop you?”

Ungitink nodded unhappily.

“Is She under the command of the King?”

“No,” said Ungitink, taken aback. “She rules her own kingdom. He rules his.”

“Aha,” said Hermione. “And what kingdom does she rule?”

Ungitink blinked. “Ungitink… Ungitink should not tell.”

“But Ungitink,” said Hermione, “She only told you not to reveal her identity, didn’t she? She didn’t say anything about revealing her kingdom, isn’t that right?”

Ungitink looked uncertain. “Perhaps,” he said.

“Let me ask you this then,” said Hermione. “Does Her kingdom border Rinkitink?”

“No,” said Ungitink. “Rinkitink is bordered by the ocean and the Land of Ev.”

“Very well,” said Hermione. “Does Her kingdom border the Land of Ev?”

“No,” said Ungitink. “Her kingdom is separated from the Land of Ev by the Deadly Desert.”

“The Deadly Desert?” cried Luna, her eyes lighting up. “That rings a bell… What does it remind me of?”

“And what country lies across the Deadly Desert from the Land of Ev?” said Hermione doggedly.

Ungitink’s eyes shifted. “The Winkie Country,” he said.

“The Winkie Country!” cried Luna. “Yes! Which is one of the four countries — the Munchkin Country, the Quadling Country, the Gillikin Country, the Winkie Country! — ‘She’ must be Princess Ozma! Princess Ozma of Oz!”

“What?” cried Hermione.

“Wait,” said Harry. “Isn’t Oz just a story? Like Alice in Wonderland or something?”

“Oh, everyone knows Oz is real,” said Luna. “It’s protected by secrecy and invisibility spells, of course. But it’s on a small continent near Australia.”

“That’s ridiculous!” said Hermione. “No one could hide something like that from all the wizards.”

“Gormenghast hid a mountain,” said Luna matter-of-factly. “In the middle of London.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Hermione. “It’s nonsense. He’s lying. He’s feeding us lies.”

“House elves are terrible liars,” said Luna. “They can keep secrets, sometimes, but they’re awful at coming up with things that aren’t true.”

“What about it, Kreacher?” said Harry. “Is She Ozma of Oz? Did your orders come from her?”

“Kreacher does not know,” said Kreacher miserably.

Harry rounded on Ungitink again. “Why?” he demanded. “Why does she need more magic?”

Ungitink looked tired, guilty, and sad. “It is a terrible thing. She is weakening. Her power is spread too thin; she is fading away. She needs strength. She needs more magic. She is very distressed. Our poor mistress.”

“Our poor mistress,” said all the other elves in unison. Harry felt another shiver go up his spine.

“So the house elves are destroying time turners and making wizards go squib?” said Ron. “Just because of this Oz person?”

“You wizards do not understand,” said Ungitink. “She is not just getting weaker. She is dying! Dying!”

“Dying,” sighed all the house elves together, their high-pitched voices falling together like a flock of wretched whistles.

“And if she dies,” said Ungitink, “we will all die too. Oh yes, all of us.”

“What?” said Hermione. “Seriously?”

“Ungitink is very serious,” said Ungitink. “She is our Queen. We love her dearly. Without her, our hearts would break.”

“What, really break?” asked Ron. “As in, break break? Or just, you know, be really sad?”

“Break break,” said Ungitink, scowling at him.

Hermione looked concerned, and squatted down next to Kreacher. “Kreacher,” she said, “is any of this right? Please tell us.”

Kreacher’s watery eyes looked up at her. “Kreacher does not know much,” he said softly. “But he knows there is a Queen. And he knows that if the Queen dies, then all the house elves will die. All of them.”

Hermione looked at him carefully a moment. “I believe he’s telling the truth,” she said softly. “But that can’t be right! Oz is a story, from a book written by an American Muggle author, what was his name? L. Frank Baum. It’s not real. It’s a book. And a movie.”

“Gormenghast is also a book and a movie, I think you’ll find,” said Luna. “Maybe the author of Gormenghast wasn’t the only Muggle to be inspired by actual wizarding things.”

“Well, ok,” said Ron, “but how much of that is real? I mean, Ginny used to really love those books. Talking scarecrows and people made of tin and whatnot. That’s just fantasy.”

“It’s a fairy country,” said Luna authoritatively. “Magic saturates everything there. Just about anything can happen.”

“How do you know so much about it?” demanded Hermione.

“It was all in a series of exposé articles my father did about ten years back,” said Luna. “The Duplicitous Wizards and Oz. He thought at first it was related to the Rotfang Conspiracy, but it turned out it wasn’t really a conspiracy. It was just that the fairies are rather dangerous, and they don’t like to be disturbed, so the Ministry and other wizarding governments hide them away and keep them off the maps.”

“But that’s crazy,” said Ron. “If this is true, it means that if we stop the house elves, then they’ll all die. And if we don’t stop it…”

“Then wizards will keep being struck squib,” said Harry. “And Voldemort will win after all. …And …I’ll die.”

There was a silence. They stared at the ground, thinking. Hagrid sniffed — he had been crying — and wiped his nose on his sleeve, lifting Ungitink awkwardly up high over his head in the process.

At last Hermione looked up and folded her arms firmly. “Then I guess we know what we have to do,” she said. “We have to help the house elves.”

“What?” cried Ron. “Are you mental?”

“We have no choice, Ron,” said Hermione; but her voice was shaking and she couldn’t look him in the eye. “We can’t let all those house elves die. There are hundreds of thousands of them, Ron. Maybe millions!”

“But Harry —“ said Ron.

“Millions, Ron,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously telling me that you could live with yourself, knowing that you’d caused the deaths of millions of people?”

“People?” said Ron.

That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Hermione’s eyes widened and she silently turned her back on him.

“I mean, of course they’re people!” said Ron angrily. “But they’re house elves! And we’re talking about Harry’s life! — And You-Know-Who coming back! You really want that to happen?”

“Of course not, Ron!” said Hermione. She turned back around, and her eyes were wet. “But what choice do we have?”

“There is another option,” said Harry. “I’m going to go to Oz. I’ll find this Princess Ozma. And I’ll see what she has to say for herself.”


	5. Rinkitink

**Rinkitink**

The next morning dawned unseasonably cold and foggy. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood wearing muggle clothing in an abandoned corner of Hyde Park with Hagrid, Luna, Neville, and Ginny. Fortunately the fog was quite thick, rolling in off the Thames in great billowing curtains, so that unless a muggle came quite close indeed, Hagrid’s bulk would appear to be nothing more than a large boulder or bush.

The house elves with them were completely hidden in the shadows and mist. Kreacher was there, along with Coddie, another member of HELF; and nearby was Ungitink and his companion Kelebrink. When Harry had declared his intention to find Ozma and work out a solution, they had readily agreed to help the wizards travel with them to Rinkitink.

“We do not know why our Queen is dying,” said Ungitink. “But if you can find a way to help her, we will be forever in your debt. And it will be very easy to bring you back to Rinkitink with us. We have a Portkey placed in Hyde Park.”

After arranging for a dozen Ministry agents to be placed permanently on guard at the Time Room to do what they could to prevent other house elves from trying to destroy the Hourwicks, and making sure that Ungitink and his companion were under careful watch for the night, the wizards had hastily grabbed a few hours of sleep and a quick bite to eat before reconvening.

Harry was a bit nervous, but mostly excited. He’d told Ginny about everything that had happened, not sure how much she would believe, and she had immediately demanded to come along.

“I used to love the Oz books so much!” she said. “I had no idea they might be real. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“I don’t really know much about them,” said Harry. “The Dursleys weren’t really much for reading and didn’t have a lot of books around. I might have seen the movie once, a long time ago. It’s the one with the scarecrow and the tin man?”

“I never saw the movie either,” said Ginny. “I’ve only ever seen one or two muggle movies. The people in them can’t talk with you, or hear you, can they? They just ignore you?”

“Right,” said Harry. “It’s just, you know, a recording of actors.”

“But I read the books,” said Ginny. “The Scarecrow and the Tin Man, Nick Chopper. And the Cowardly Lion, and Dorothy and Toto, and Glinda and the Wicked Witch and Ozma and the Nome King…”

“Those are some really odd names,” said Harry. “What’s a Toto?”

“Toto is Dorothy’s perfectly ordinary little black dog,” said Ginny. “Honestly, I loved the scenes of Kansas just as much as the ones of Oz. Both places seemed so strange and alien to me. And yeah, they were weird. I loved them though. When you’re young, there aren’t as many books with female protagonists as you might think. At least, there weren’t when we were growing up. Dorothy and Alice and Hortunia, that was mostly it.”

“Alice? Alice in Wonderland? I know that one. Who’s Hortunia?”

“Hortunia the Wee Witch? I guess you wouldn’t have known about it, it was a wizard’s book. Hortunia was a completely normal witch but never grew more than an inch tall. Loads of adventures with mice and worms and butterflies and such. — Anyway, you clearly need an Oz expert on this expedition. I’m coming.”

Harry was not inclined to argue; there was no question that having an expert on Oz would be a huge help. Ginny pulled a dozen old hardback books out of a chest and pored over them for the next hour, refreshing her memory and occasionally squealing with excitement.

When he and Ginny had arrived at the park that morning, silently Apparating next to the others, she had a sizable pack on her back, stuffed with four or five books for reference, and wearing a huge grin.

“All right,” said Hermione. “I think we’re ready. We’ve got our provisions and our broomsticks, right? Ok. Where’s this Portkey, Ungitink?”

The little old elf bowed slightly, took his walking stick, and carefully poked around in a bush. After a moment he raised the stick out, and on its end was a tarnished old watch on a chain.

“This will take us to the central square in Gilgad,” said Ungitink. “Then we can go to the palace and seek an audience with the King.”

“Sounds good,” said Ron. His teeth were chattering. “This is the coldest August morning ever. Let’s get going. Warm in Gilgad, is it?”

“In Gilgad,” said Ungitink proudly, “the sun is always shining, the sea breezes are always comfortable, song fills the air, and the people are always filled with gladness.”

“…Okay,” said Hermione, sounding very uncertain.

“I’m not sure I like the sound of it,” said Neville. “I mean, I guess that’s all fine, but does the sun shine all the time? Like, it never rains at all? And what is everyone so glad about? …And are we going to have to sing?”

“Agreed,” said Harry. “Sounds dangerous. Wands ready, everyone.”

“Just so long as it’s warm, I’m in,” said Ron. “Let’s go.”

 

Harry had never undergone a Portkey journey like this one. The swirling and rushing and discomfort was completely normal, and the sensation of being dragged bodily by his navel was absolutely expected, but it just went on, and on, and on. Seconds passed, and then minutes, and still Harry was buffeted and hurled about, getting dizzier and dizzier. He tried to shout out, but his breath was blown from his lungs.

Finally, and very abruptly, it was over, and they were rolling over and over and crashing into each other on a hard cobblestone ground. Harry made sure his wand was whole, then got up on all fours and tried to look around quickly.

It didn’t work: he was far too dizzy. The ground spun under him and he fell flat on his face. He wasn’t the only one having trouble; the others were moaning and grumbling as well. After a moment or so he tried again, and this time made it all the way too his feet, although he was still very unsteady.

It was indeed warm, with a wonderful sea breeze, but the sun was down, and it would have been quite dark if not for the hundreds of lights and lanterns surrounding them on the square. Shops and restaurants were lit, and brightly dressed people were everywhere; apparently it was shortly after dusk on this side of the world. Harry had been expecting a city of house elves much like Ungitink, but instead most of the people he saw were just… people, as far as he could tell. To be sure, they did vary a great deal in height, and they were uniformly healthy and handsome, and they wore outfits that looked like one-piece polka-dot pajamas with knee-high boots… but otherwise, just people.

“Invaders!” cried a man, pointing in horror. “See how they come without warning!”

“Warriors!” cried a woman. “See their terrible stick weapons!”

“Wait, hold on,” said Harry.

“Giants!” cried a child, pointing in Hagrid with unbridled glee. The child was quickly hushed and hustled away.

“We’re not warriors,” said Harry quickly.

“Well, we are Aurors,” muttered Ron.

“Call the guard! Call the guard!” cried the people. The shout was quickly taken up and carried through the crowd.

“Good people! Good people!” cried Ungitink, his high voice carrying easily over the shouting. “We are not attacking you! It is only Ungitink, the High Grending of the Elves! With friends from the other side of the world!”

“Ungitink!” shouted a man. “It is Ungitink! The traitor Ungitink! He’s returned with an army!”

“Traitor?!” cried Hermione. “Is there something you needed to tell us, Ungitink?”

“Ungitink does not know,” said Ungitink, sounding completely confused. “Ungitink is not a traitor, Ungitink only — “

“Seize them!” cried a loud, deep voice, and before the wizards could react, burly guards emerged from the crowd, each of them at least Hagrid’s size, wearing brightly shining silver armor, reaching for them with massive hands. Harry managed to shout Expelliarmus!, but the guard wasn’t carrying a weapon. Bare-handed, he snatched the wand and broomstick from Harry’s fingers, and grappled Harry into a vice-like grip, pinning his arms to his sides.

“Well, that could have gone better,” said Ron, as they were carried off to the dungeons.


	6. The King's Wrath

**The King's Wrath**

 

“These dungeons aren’t that bad, really,” said Ron, munching on a sweet roll. He had chosen one of the lemon custard ones. Harry’d had one with chocolate and cherry filling, as had Neville and Ginny. Luna had taken one of both. Hermione was too wound up to eat. Hagrid was still working on finishing up the rest of the platter. There was also milk and cream, fruit juice (Harry couldn’t figure out what fruit it was — a mix of mango / strawberry / kiwi maybe?), sausages, eggs, and some kind of fried bread.

What with the full continental breakfast, the ample seating (three simple couches that were really quite comfortable), the brightly painted wood paneled walls, and the large windows that allowed a wonderful view of the city and the Nonestic Ocean beyond it, they probably wouldn’t have known they were in a dungeon at all, if the guard captain had not shouted “Here is the dungeon! Here you will stay until the King, in his mercy, grants you an audience and judges your punishment!” and pushed them in roughly.

They had naturally immediately tried to find a way out. There was no means of illuminating the room (all their wands had been taken) but the large window let in plenty of moon and starlight, and the city of Gilgad spread out below them was aglow with golden lights, and the very ocean itself seemed to be faintly luminescent.

“If we had our broomsticks,” said Hermione, “we could open this window and fly out.”

“They took my motorcycle, too,” said Hagrid. “I had it shrunk down in my pocket, but they rifled through everything and took it away.”

So there was no way out, except the brightly painted large thick locked and bolted door, which appeared to be sealed by magic as well, for it could not be opened, even by the elves.

It had been clear that nothing more was going to happen until morning, so they talked together in low voices, trying to figure out what was going on, and to make some kind of plan. Ungitink could think of no reason he’d been accused of treason. It was true that he hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with the King about the nature of his mission, but that wasn’t treason.

“Maybe he found out about it,” said Ron. “And maybe he doesn’t want you to save the Queen. Maybe he thinks saving the Queen is treason. I mean, suppose he got struck squib accidentally? He could be pretty upset, I’d imagine.”

Ungitink looked horrified. “The King could never be struck squib, surely! He is not a human wizard. He is a fairy, like Ungitink.”

“He’s a house elf?” asked Harry.

“No, no. Elves are a kind of fairy, but not all fairies are elves. There are many other kinds of fairies.”

“And there are no fairy squibs?” asked Luna. “No house elves are ever born without magic?”

“Not that Ungitink ever heard of,” said Ungitink. Luna looked over at the other house elves, and they nodded as well.

“That’s very curious,” said Luna. “I wonder why that is?”

“Whether or not fairies can be born squibs is a separate issue from whether the King might lose his magic,” said Hermione. “If elves are stealing magic from people, they might be stealing from both human wizards and other magical creatures.”

Ungitink looked horrified. “Surely not!”

“Anyway,” sighed Hermione, “what is the King likely to do with us?”

Ungitink shook his head. “This must be some misunderstanding,” he said. “The King is quick to anger, however, and he may dispense some terrible punishment on us. Already he has cast us into this terrible dungeon.”

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. If the terrible punishment was much like this terrible dungeon, it might be something they could put up with.

Eventually they spread out on the couches and tried to get a bit more sleep. It was extremely difficult, however, because their bodies were still on London time. If they’d had their wands they could have gotten to sleep with magic, but as it was they tossed and turned and were finally starting to feel a bit tired when dawn began to light the roofs of the houses below.

When breakfast was delivered, with all its cakes and pastries and treats, Harry and Ron began to be quite certain that the King’s wrath would be nothing much to worry about. They were even more certain when the King himself arrived.

He was a round, fat man, wearing pajamas just like his subjects (although his had no polka dots; it was just a solid bright red from his neck to his high black boots). He had no beard or other hair, except a thin rim of white hair around his head. His expression was full of concern. He was not walking — indeed, he was so fat and round, and his legs so short and stubby, that it was clear that walking would be uncomfortable for him. Instead he rode an adorable little white donkey with pink eyes and a pink ribbon tied into its silver mane.

When the King’s attendants opened the door and ushered him in, he rode his little donkey right into the room.

“Oh my!” said the King. “Oh my goodness! This is terrible, it really is. I am really quite distraught. And Rodbag is too, aren’t you Rodbag?” This he addressed to the donkey, who did not look distraught, but was looking rather bored and munching contentedly on half a carrot. “I cannot believe that my dear trusted Ungitink has fallen to this low level, I really can’t. Filigol, bring me one of those pastries, if you would; I need to calm my nerves.”

“Certainly, my King,” said one of his attendants, a tall thin one with a sharp nose and black and gold polka dotted pajamas. He brought him one of the pastries Hagrid hadn’t consumed yet.

“Your majesty,” said Ungitink, “this has all been a terrible mistake. Ungitink has committed no crime, your majesty. No treason.”

“Treason!” cried the King. “Treason! You’ve been accused of treason, too? My goodness! Filigol, why didn’t you tell me?”

“We did tell you, your majesty,” said Filigol, bowing. “Last night, when you had your evening snack.”

“Oh, perhaps so,” said the King. “But Filigol, you know I can never concentrate on much during my evening snack. I thought he was just accused of the theft.”

“The theft of what, your majesty?” asked Filigol.

“Why, my hot water bottle cover,” said the King. “The special one knitted by my friend, Queen Zixi of Ix.” He turned to the wizards. “She really is a great sorceress, you know,” he said, as if he were sharing a delightful secret between friends. “And a wonderful knitter. She also knitted me a blanket, it is wonderfully soft and is enchanted to always give pleasant dreams to someone sleeping under it.”

“Your majesty must have wonderful dreams every night,” said Hermione. She looked as though she was trying hard not to laugh.

“Oh, dear me, no!” said the King. “I mean, I sleep perfectly well, I have nothing to complain of, my dear. No, it would be selfish to keep such a wonderful thing to myself. I lend it out every night to one of the children in my kingdom, whichever one has been having difficult dreams. — But the hot water bottle cover! It isn’t magical, so far as I know, but it does keep my hot water bottle nice and warm, and it has a pleasant red and white pattern that goes well with my royal pajamas. Ungitink, why would you steal such a thing?”

“Ungitink did not, your majesty,” protested Ungitink.

“He did not, your majesty,” agreed Filigol. “It was lost under your bed yesterday evening, if you remember. We discovered it just after your snack.”

“Oh, so we did, so we did!” cried the King. “Oh, I’m so glad. I was so worried, you know. All during my snack I kept reaching for it, you know, because it sometimes does get chilly at night, and I always keep it right there by my chair by the fire, but — “

“Your majesty,” said Filigol, sounding a bit exasperated, “Ungitink traveled a few days ago to the Forest of Burzee, to visit with the other elves there, or so he said. When he came back, he refused to answer questions about it and I thought he looked rather… evasive. Then he disappeared. I feared he might be plotting against your life, your majesty; so I ordered that if anyone found him, he should be brought in on suspicion of treason. Then, yesterday evening, Ungitink and these other elves and humans appeared without warning in the middle of Gilgad Square, armed with wands and broomsticks. The people called the guard immediately, and they were taken here and thrown in the dungeon.”

“Excellent!” said the King. “Thank you, Filigol, you have explained it all very clearly. I congratulate you. And the guards acted very well in acting so promptly and efficiently in the face of great danger, for it seems clear that all of these elves and humans could be quite frightening, if they were intent on invasion.”

“But your majesty, we assure you —“ began Ungitink.

“Please, my good elf,” said the King, his eyebrows knotting into a slight frown, “do not interrupt! It is quite rude.”

“A thousand pardons, your majesty,” said Ungitink, bowing.

“There’s a good fellow. — And it is also quite clear to me that the people in the square, my most excellent subjects, did very well in raising the alarm and calling for the guards. For you had warned them, had you not, Filigol, that Ungitink was a traitor? And strangers suddenly appearing somewhere, armed, as you say, with wands, could be quite unsettling. Yes, my most excellent subjects did very well. In fact, let us have a holiday tomorrow, to thank them, and celebrate how well everyone has acted in this situation.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” said Filigol, bowing. “I shall put out the order.”

“Everyone except you, Filigol,” said the King, frowning at him and crossing his arms. “I have always said, Filigol, that you are always seeing plots and conspiracies against me when you have no cause to, and now you have accused a perfectly innocent elf of treason! It is quite clear that Ungitink was not plotting anything. He simply went to the Forest of Burzee to see his relatives about some private matter, and now he has returned with friends to help him attend to that. Isn’t that right, Ungitink?”

“Yes, yes, your majesty!” cried Ungitink with relief. “Yes, I was going to see my friends and relatives because — “

“Again, good Ungitink,” said the King, frowning, “please do not interrupt! I did ask you a question, that is fair enough, but it was only a yes or no question, I did not need further explanation! In any case this matter of yours is clearly private and is really none of our business. I must insist you tell me nothing of it. — In any case, Filigol, I have to say, in general you are an excellent First Minister and you take care of things for me exceedingly well, but this matter of paranoia, of seeing plots and schemes and conspiracies everywhere, it really is bothersome. Why, just last week you accused the poor cook of trying to poison me!”

“Your majesty’s birthday cake tasted of old boots, your majesty!” protested Filigol.

“Oh, I grant you that,” said the King. “It is true, she is a terrible cook. But it was not poisoned, my dear man. Just inedible.”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Filigol, bowing. “I apologize, your majesty.”

“Oh, it is all right,” said the King. “You do your best, I know that. But you really should apologize to these poor people, who have been kept here against their will all night.” He turned to them all. “I hope you were not too uncomfortable? I really am very embarrassed.”

“Um, we were fine, your majesty,” said Hermione. “In fact I think this is probably the nicest dungeon we have ever been in.”

“My goodness!” said the King. “Well, that really is delightful to hear. Isn’t she nice, Filigol? So polite. You know, now that I look at you all more closely,” said the King, squinting at them and looking from one to another, “you really are a remarkable collection of people. Ungitink and Kelebrink I know, of course, but these other elves I do not recognize, and they really are dressed rather strangely, don’t you think, Filigol? And these mortals! I have only met one or two humans in my time, but it is always a pleasure, always a pleasure. And you, sir, are you a giant?”

This last question was of course addressed to Hagrid, who had been trying to disappear into the shadows in the corner of the room. He cleared his throat and looked embarrassed.

“No, sire, your majesty, sire,” he mumbled in his booming voice. “I’m just, well, I’m just, I’m a teacher, sire, I teach Care of Magical Creatures at the school.”

“I see!” said the King. “Teaching is one of the noblest of professions, I believe. Well, again, I must apologize for holding you here against your will, but I wonder if you’d be so kind as to join me for brunch? It would be wonderful to hear whatever stories of yourselves you’re willing to tell. I have a delightful kingdom, as I’m sure you can see, with all my people quite happy and prosperous, but if it has a fault it is just frightfully boring sometimes. Why, once I ran away, can you believe that? It was so boring I simply ran away to have adventures. Wonderful adventures! My people came and found me and brought me back, of course, and they were quite right to do so, a King can’t simply run away any time he likes. Still, they were wonderful adventures. What was I saying?”

“I shall arrange the prisoners to have brunch with your majesty,” said Faligol, bowing.

“Brunch! Yes! But they are not prisoners, Faligol, they are my guests. Get that through your head. They are free to have brunch with me or not, it’s entirely up to them. Come, Rodbag.” And with that the King gently turned his donkey around and rode it out of the room.

Faligol bowed to them. “I do apologize,” he said. “I hope you are not too angry? I will have your wands and broomsticks and other items returned to you immediately. And I hope you will join our King for brunch. He would be most disappointed otherwise. He is ridiculous and foolish, and talks far too much, but he is also tremendously kind-hearted and wise. I do not know your errand here in Gilgad, but if you wish for any assistance at all, whether in guidance, food, or other supplies, I am certain if you tell him at brunch, he will do all he can to help you.”

“But we just ate,” said Hermione, at the same time as Harry and Ron said in unison, “That would be excellent, thanks!”


	7. The Three Pearls

**The Three Pearls**

Filigol bowed himself out, and the wizards turned to each other in amazement.

“He’s an interesting one, isn’t he?” said Hermione.

“He’s round the twist,” said Ron. “This whole place is. It’s amazing.”

“Ginny,” said Harry, “do you know anything about this King? Is he likely to really be helpful to us?”

“Maybe,” said Ginny. “There’s a whole book about him — Rinkitink in Oz. He’s just like the book describes, except the book has him riding a little goat instead of a donkey. Although, come to think of it, the goat gets turned into a prince at the end of the book, so maybe the king just found a substitute?… Anyway, he is very kind-hearted, but also silly. I don’t know how powerful he is, though, magically speaking. I mean, if our goal is to get to the Land of Oz, I don’t know how much help he can be. Oz is really hard to get to, because of the Deadly Desert. Even most powerful fairies can’t get across it.”

“So he’s never been to Oz?” asked Harry.

“Oh, I think he did go,” said Ginny. “I don’t exactly remember the end of the book, but I think Dorothy comes and saves them from the Nome King or something? And then maybe she transports them to Oz using her magic belt? I don’t remember.”

“But if he’s friends with Oz people, maybe he can get a message to them,” said Hermione. “Ask them directly to speak with us.”

“But how much can we trust him?” asked Harry. “How much can we tell him? If we just say, hey, Ozma is stealing our magic, we want to go have a talk with her, can you help us… what would he say?”

“I don’t know,” said Ginny.

Ungitink shook his head sadly. “Ungitink should not have told you,” he muttered. “Secret, all of this should be secret. Do not tell the King! If Ozma wanted him to know, she would have told him herself!”

“Well, I’m sorry, Ungitink,” said Hermione. “If Ozma didn’t want us telling her secrets, maybe she shouldn’t have stolen our magic. — I think we should tell him. From what we’ve seen so far, he might be kind of wacky, but he seems like he might at least be able to advise us or point us in the right direction.”

The brunch was excellent. As a seaside kingdom, Rinkitink’s cuisine naturally tended towards fish, oysters, crabs, and other kinds of seafood; but it was also a fairy kingdom, and the Nonestic Ocean’s waters were not of the normal sort. The wizards had never eaten anything like it. The crabs had golden carapaces, the oyster shells gleamed with luminous pearl that seemed as if moonlight had been caught in glass, and there were so many different colors and sizes of glittering fish that it seemed like the platters had been covered with jewels. At first Hagrid refused to eat, saying it was all just too beautiful, but before long hunger overcame him and in due course they had to bring out an additional platter for him.

The King arrived slightly late to the meal, explaining that he was unavoidably delayed trying to decide on an appropriate outfit for the occasion, having never brunched with so many mortals before; but he’d ended up picking the same outfit as always, since he was most comfortable with it.

For a short while they talked about the food and the kingdom of Rinkitink, and the king’s favorite dishes and favorite stretches of beach to walk along. “Of course,” he said, “I don’t actually walk; I ride my good albino donkey Rodbag. Rodbag is an excellent donkey, although not of course a real replacement for the goat I used to have, Bilbil. But he got turned into a prince — that is to say, he was always a prince, he had just been turned into a goat for a while — and that’s clearly all to the good, so I mustn’t grumble.”

“Your majesty,” said Neville, “you mentioned before that you wished to know if there were anything you could do to assist us. I wonder if we could tell you our errand?”

“Yes, please!” said the King. “I adore stories, my dear man.”

So they told him about how so many wizards were being struck squib — and this took some time, because the King had never heard of squibs, or England for that matter, and knew very little of wizards, so there was quite a bit of ground to cover. House elves and Time Turners were a bit easier to explain, although there were aspects that puzzled the King greatly.

“So house elves serve you all, doing domestic chores?” said the King. “They serve your families?”

“Most of the wealthier families, your majesty,” said Hermione.

“But why?” said the King. “Elves are very powerful beings. And, I do not mean to be rude, but it does not seem that wizards are very powerful. Once we took your wands, you had practically no magic at all. Why do they serve you? How did you enslave them?”

“Well, they just sort of, like to be servants,” said Neville. “It’s hard to explain.”

“And if you give them a piece of clothing, they are set free? — But they don’t want to be free? So they avoid trying to pick up clothing?”

“That’s right,” said Hermione, who remembered all too well the year she had tried to free all the house elves in Hogwarts. “Except for some of them, like one of our friends, Dobby.”

“Can you explain this?” asked the King, turning to Ungitink, Kreacher, and the other elves at the table.

“It is our way, your majesty,” said Ungitink. “For those of our families who are selected to serve the wizards, it is their way of life. It is a life of service and honor and they are proud to do it. It is shameful to accept freedom or be cast out of service.”

“But you do not serve a wizard family, Ungitink,” said the King.

“No, your majesty,” said Ungitink. “Ungitink is an elf, but not a house elf. Ungitink’s family was not selected.”

“But if a wizard family came to you,” mused the King, “and said, why, won’t you please come do our washing up, you would agree?”

Ungitink actually stood up on his chair and bowed. “Of course. It would be an honor.”

The King shook his head. “I confess it is beyond my understanding. But Ungitink, my dear fellow, what is all this about stealing magic, and wizards being struck skip or whatever it was? You have to admit this is no good at all, what Ozma is doing. Surely you see that.”

“The Queen is dying, your majesty,” said Ungitink softly.

The King shook his head. “I have never been very good at solving problems cleverly,” he said. “I do know right from wrong, however. It is wrong that the Queen should die, but it is also wrong that magic be stolen away, and wrong that these Hourwicks be destroyed. They sound like wonderful treasures. If you, my friends, can travel to Oz and find a solution that will save the Queen and save your magic and yourselves, that would be wonderful. And I think — yes, I am quite sure — that I have something that can help you get to Oz.”

He gestured to Filigol. “If you would be so kind,” he said, “please bring me the little present that Prince Inga gave me.”

“Which one, your majesty?” asked Filigol.

“All of them,” said the King.

“All of them?!” cried Filigol.

“Of course!” said the King. “I certainly have no need of them here. I’ve barely looked at them in the half century I’ve had them. Someone should be making use of them. Be quick, now!”

Filigol bowed out, and the King busied himself with the roast crab while he was gone. Harry and the others looked at each other and shrugged.

A few minutes later Filigol reappeared with a small golden box, and handed it to the King. The King smiled broadly and dusted it off fondly.

“Ah, here they are!” he cried. “So many wonderful memories in this box. You see, they were given to me by Prince Inga in memory of the wonderful adventures we had together. I helped him regain his kingdom, so he was naturally very grateful.” The King handed the box to Ginny, who happened to be sitting next to him. “Go on, my dear,” he said. “Open it!”

Ginny’s mouth dropped open as she did so, and she carefully reached in and pulled out a tiny blue pearl. “The three pearls!” she whispered. One by one she drew out two more: one pink, and the other white.

“Oh, you’ve heard of them?” cried the King, immensely pleased. He clapped his hands together in delight. “That’s wonderful! Where did you hear of them?”

“It was in a book I read when I was a child,” said Ginny. “There was a muggle — a mortal author, who wrote a book called Rinkitink in Oz, and —“

“Why, that’s me!” cried the King.

“Yes, your majesty,” said Ginny. “It was all about your adventures with Bilbil and Prince Inga, and the three pearls. It was one of my favorite books.”

“Goodness heavens!” cried the King. “Who could this mortal author have been? I have only met a few mortals in all my life, and none of them were authors.”

“I can only imagine he heard the story from someone else, your majesty,” said Ginny.

“That’s a most sensible suggestion,” said the King. “I do tell the story of my adventures to anyone who will listen.”

“That is certainly true, your majesty,” said Filigol.

“And you should know that more than anyone, shouldn’t you?” said the King, laughing. “I’ve told them all to you at least once a week since then!” For some reason this struck the King as ridiculously funny, and he went on laughing for at least a full minute, until he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “Oh my goodness!” he said. “It’s been too long since I laughed like that. In any case, let me explain these pearls to you. You may already know all about them, my dear,” he said to Ginny, “but since I am King, I am allowed to explain what I like.”

“Of course, your majesty,” said Ginny.

The King took the box gently from Ginny, and held up the blue pearl. “This pearl,” he said, “confers tremendous strength. The strength of a giant. Even if you’re just a small child, if you hold this pearl, or have it on your person, in your pocket or what have you, you can perform feats of great strength. Lift and throw boulders, burst through doors, rip trees from the ground, and so on. My friend Prince Inga once wrestled and threw a giant who had been sent to kill him by the Nome King.”

“Whoa,” breathed Ron.

The King held up the pink pearl. “This pearl,” he said, “protects you from all harm. Whether it’s fire, water, or cold steel, it doesn’t matter, this pearl will keep you completely safe. The Nome King once tried to kill me by filling the room with magical rotating knives, but I was utterly unharmed.”

“Wow,” said Harry.

The King held up the last pearl, the white pearl. “And this pearl,” he said, “confers the greatest gift of all: wise counsel. You have but to hold it to your ear, and it will advise you on what to do. It once said, ‘Never question the truth of what you fail to understand, for the world is filled with wonders.’ And through its wise advice Prince Inga was able devise a trick to escape from a deadly cavern of lava in which the Nome King had trapped him.”

“Oh wow,” said Hermione. “Does it have advice for us now?”

“Let us see!” said the King. He held the white pearl up to his ear. He blinked, and his eyebrows went up. “My goodness!” he said, and put the pearl back in the box, and handed the box back to Ginny. “My friends,” he said, “the pearl advises you to start at once. The situation has become quite grave. You must travel to the realm of the Nome King, and from there to the Land of Oz, as quickly as possible.”

“Why?” asked Hermione. “What did the pearl say?”

“Exactly what I just told you,” said the King. “So you should get started. Filigol!” he cried.

“Yes, your majesty?” asked Filigol.

“Please have this breakfast packed up for our friends and give them some additional traveling provisions. And then lend them some horses to carry them to the Land of Ev.”

“There’s no need of that, your majesty,” said Ginny. “None of us can really ride horses, anyway. We ride broomsticks.”

“Broomsticks?!” cried the King. “Then you are witches? No, never mind, there is no time! You must start at once. Filigol, see to it please. And make sure they know the way, also — how embarrassing that would be, if you got lost! Oh my friends, it has been so wonderful to have you. I apologize again for our unfortunate confusion when you first arrived. I wish you the best of luck in your journey, and every happiness thereafter.”


	8. The Wheelers

**The Wheelers**

 

The sun was warm and the high breezes cold as their broomsticks (and Hagrid’s flying motorcycle) carried them up and over Gilgad, heading east into the late morning. The kingdom of Rinkitink was long and thin, huddled close by the Nonestic Ocean, and completely surrounded by high fir-fringed mountains. They could hear rushing rivers and waterfalls below as their broomsticks climbed up towards the peaks.

Ungitink and Kelebrink were staying behind to relay news to the other elves of Rinkitink and the nearby countries; so nine remained in the party — the six wizards on broomsticks, Hagrid on his motorcycle, and Kreacher and Coddie riding alongside him. For safety, they’d divided the three pearls between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with Harry carrying the pink pearl, Ron the blue one, and Hermione the white. Filigol had given them detailed instructions.

“Fly north and east over the mountains into the Land of Ev,” he said, “and then fly over the Wheeler Waste and land at the feet of the Nomic Mountains. You do not want to land among the Wheelers, for they are a fearsome and vicious people. But you must walk into the Nomic Mountains, for anyone that flies over them may be attacked by the Fire Lizards. Follow the main road into the mountains and you will reach the Nome King’s dominion.”

“Wheelers, Fire Lizards, gnomes, and whatnot,” grumbled Ron. “I feel like it’s going to be one long Care of Magical Creatures exam.”

“What’s that, Ron?” boomed Hagrid. Ron hastily pretended that he had a terrible cough.

Once they were up over the mountains, which only took an hour or so, the Land of Ev was spread out below them, and they turned north and east. To their left was a broad, flat, pale brown rocky country, the Wheeler Waste; and beyond that was the ocean. To their right the countryside became greener, with rolling hills and little rivers and woodland, which disappeared into the distance. Up ahead was a wall of high black rock: the Nomic Mountains.

Hermione pointed at a spot near the feet of the mountains, where a path wound up from the green country into the hills. “Head for that!” she said. “We’ll land there!”

After another half hour of flying, they landed (Hagrid shrinking the motorcycle and putting it back in his pocket) and looked around. It was a beautiful area, and they quickly found some low scrubby trees under which they could drink some water and recover from their flight before starting their walk up into the mountains. The sun was still climbing up to their left. Ahead of them, as they looked back over the valley they’d just flown over, the path wound down into the green country of Ev, although here it was still rocky and dry. The ground was curiously hard packed. To their right, the near slopes of the mountains were strewn with boulders of the same pale brown color as the ground itself. Across the valley were the purple mountains that ringed Rinkitink; they too were dry and rocky on this side. Behind the travelers, the mountains of the Nome King rose up, and now that they were closer, they could see that their black color was caused by millions of flecks of volcanic obsidian in the stone.

“It certainly is a gorgeous country,” said Neville. “I wonder why the ground is so hard? It’s not rock, it’s packed dust. Like something has really compressed it.”

“What’s that noise?” asked Luna suddenly. They listened, and all could hear it: a low rumble like a continuous thunder. They looked around, but could see nothing. The rumbling grew louder; within a few minutes, it seemed to be rattling their bones and the very earth under them.

“Wands out!” cried Harry.

Then they began to see flickers of movement over to the right. At first they had no idea what the movement was, but then they saw that some kind of beings or creatures, apparently on all fours but with unsettlingly long legs, were darting to and fro between the boulders, moving from hiding place to hiding place; and what’s more, they were getting closer.

“Ginny!” whispered Harry. “Any ideas what these are?”

“They said this is the Wheeler Waste,” said Ginny. “I have a vague memory of Wheelers being scary, but — “

Suddenly, there was a long, wailing cry, a human voice, but one filled with anguish and hunger. The voice was joined by dozens of others, and the mountainside echoed with the wails and thunderous noise.

“This keeps up, I’m going to need a change of robes,” said Ron.

“Hold firm,” said Harry. “Wait for them to show themselves.”

“Nuts to that!” said Ron. “I’ve had enough. I’m going after them.”

“What?” said Harry. “Ron, don’t do anything stupid —“

Too late. Ron let out a bellow, and, holding his wand high, ran charging at the boulders, covering the ground remarkably quickly. The wailing and thundering reached a crescendo, and suddenly dozens of Wheelers appeared: man-sized or larger, on all fours, because all four limbs ended in wheels instead of hands or feet. They were dressed in gaudy ragged clothing, their heads wrapped in bright multicolored cloths, and their wailing mouths opened unnaturally wide, as if their jaws could unhinge like snakes. They moved with amazing speed over the hard-packed earth, zipping and darting here and there with remarkable agility, and in a moment Ron’s figure was lost among them as they circled and swirled around him. Harry heard him screaming and shouting.

“Dammit,” said Harry. “Hold on Ron, we’re coming! Stupefy!”

They ran forward, casting as they came. The Wheelers immediately pivoted toward them, rushing forward with mouths wide and wheels thundering. Harry knocked a couple of them over with spells before the mass of them reached him, and he managed to dodge the first that came after him, but then a Wheeler crashed into him like a freight train, and the creature’s teeth locked onto his arm. It lifted him up with surprising strength and flung him up and over, so that he was thrown back up away from the group and landed hard on the ground.

He gasped for breath for a moment — the breath had been knocked out of him. Otherwise, however, he was completely unhurt. Did the pink pearl protect him from harm? He rolled over and up onto his feet, trying to quickly see how the battle was going. Ron was standing in the middle of a crowd of Wheelers, and he’d picked up one by the legs and was swinging it in a circle around him, knocking others back and over like wheeled bowling pins. The blue pearl was giving him amazing strength, all right — he wasn’t sure Hagrid would have been able to do that! The huge man seemed to be doing ok, though, by simply grabbing them and shoving them over, off their wheels. They seemed to have a lot of trouble getting back up once they’d fallen. Hermione had a pile of stunned Wheelers around her, as did Neville. Luna was crumpled on the ground, but Ginny was standing over her, fireballs going in all directions.

Suddenly it was over. The Wheelers’ wails turned to screeches and screams, and as if that were a signal, they all immediately turned and fled back towards the boulders. Within a few moments, all the Wheelers had completely disappeared, except for the dozen or so lying stunned around them, and the one Ron was holding by the legs, who also wasn’t feeling well.

Harry rushed over to help Ginny with Luna.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Luna. They helped her sit up, and saw she had a nasty gash on her head. “One of them bashed me in the head with its wheel. Or hand, or whatever. Are you ok, Harry? You got thrown pretty far.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” said Harry. “I think the pink pearl protected me.”

Ginny waved her wand and fixed up Luna’s head, and she stood up.

“I remember more about these Wheelers now,” said Ginny. “From the third book, Ozma of Oz. Probably my favorite Oz book, actually. Anyway, they’re really not that dangerous. I mean, other than smacking you with their wheels, and biting a little, there’s not much they can do to you. They’re not magical, and they can’t hold weapons. They realize this, so they do their best to scare you out of their territory. If you stand up to them, they run away.”

“Well that’s great then,” said Ron. He dropped his hold on his Wheeler, and it scrambled to its wheels, shot them a dirty look, and dejectedly rolled away. “Let’s get on, then.”

“Agreed,” said Harry. “But we can rest a moment first. And Ron, can I talk to you for a second?”

Ron frowned, but followed Harry over behind a one of the scrubby trees.

“What is going on with you, Ron?” asked Harry.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve just been charging into every single battle without stopping to think. You flew right into Gormenghast’s castle before we were ready. You blasted open the door to the Time Room and nearly got us killed by a bunch of house elves. And now you’ve charged into a pack of Wheelers without knowing anything about them. So come on. What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up, Harry,” said Ron, although Harry could clearly see from Ron’s angry expression that he wasn’t being completely truthful. “I mean, I’m just attacking when I think we’re ready. And we won all those battles, didn’t we?”

“Yeah we did,” said Harry, “but it was a near thing a couple of times. I mean, that Gormenghast guy would have probably killed you if he hadn’t been struck squib; and if you’d just waited a minute or two for us to come up with a proper plan, there wouldn’t have been any danger at all.”

“I did have a proper plan,” said Ron defiantly. “If we wait around all day for you to come up with something, and for us to discuss it and discuss it, nothing will get done. People are losing their magic, Harry; and we’re trying to keep You-Know-Who from coming back, and to save your life, remember? We need to move quickly. We’re strong, we’re quick, we’re not kids anymore. We don’t always have to have everything worked out to the last detail before we move in. And if you don’t understand that, maybe someone else needs to be in charge.”

“What?” said Harry. “What do you mean? I’m not in charge, I just — “

“That’s right, mate, you’re not,” said Ron, and he turned away and went back to the others.

Harry felt himself flushing with embarrassment and anger. Was Ron accusing him of trying to order everyone around? But Harry wasn’t in charge. He just gave his opinion, just like everyone else. Right? And was Ron right about Harry being too cautious? It was true that, so far at least, everything had worked out pretty well, considering. And if they hadn’t rushed in so quickly to the Time Room, maybe the elves would have destroyed more than just that one Time Turner.

Harry didn’t know. And he didn’t know what, if anything, he should do about it. Maybe Ron was right; maybe it wasn’t the end of the world if they were a little less prepared for each battle.

Well, they’d soon see. He drew a deep breath and looked back towards the others. Ron had already started trudging up the path towards the Nomic Mountains, and the others were starting to follow him. Harry sighed. It was going to be a long, hard climb.


	9. Tiktok

**Tiktok**

 

For the rest of the morning the path led them higher and higher into the mountains, Hagrid carrying the elves so that they could easily keep up. The path at first switchbacked over open country, but then plunged into a sort of canyon with a dry riverbed at the bottom of it, and walls of rock rose up on both sides. The rocks were gray, dusty, and lifeless, and the path was extremely stony, so much so that within half an hour all their feet were sore.

“Forget this,” said Ron. “I know that they said Fire Lizards would attack anyone who tried to fly over the mountains, but they also warned us against the Wheelers, and we handled those pretty well. I say we at least try it.”

“Ok, Ron,” said Hermione. “Just be careful.”

Ron hopped on his broom and rose a few feet into the air. There were no sign of any lizards, fire or flying or otherwise, so he tried going a bit higher. Still things seemed safe.

“Seems ok,” Harry heard him call out. “I’m going to try and poke my head over the edge of the ravine…”

There was a few seconds of silence. Then, “Oh, cripes!”

Harry couldn’t see what was wrong; as far as he could tell, Ron was alone up there. But he started screaming and waving his arms over his head, as if trying to bat away something invisible.

“What is it, Ron?” cried Harry. “Get back down here!”

But Ron didn’t seem to hear him. He and the others were on their brooms in a moment (except for Hagrid, who stayed down with the elves) and rising up towards Ron. As soon as they were up over the edge of the ravine, Harry saw the others start shouting and waving their arms too. Harry couldn’t see anything wrong at all, and felt nothing, although there did seem to be some kind of haze or cloud up here that he couldn’t quite focus on. He was the first to reach Ron.

“Ron, I’m here!” said Harry. “Are you ok?”

“It’s these little — faugh! They’re bugs or something — they fly into my mouth when I try to — agh!”

Now Harry could see them: less than an inch long, they were tiny little flying lizards, darting around them like a swarm of insects. They were all over Ron, crawling over every inch of his skin, hair, and robes, and Harry could see little bursts of flame coming from their mouths. They were tiny flying dragons!

“Come on,” said Harry. “They’re leaving me alone — probably because of the pink pearl. I’ll grab your broom, guide you down. Shut your eyes and mouth as tight as you can.”

Ron did it, and clamped his hand over his nostrils too. It took just a few seconds for Harry to get Ron down into the ravine again, and as soon as they did, the flying lizards jumped off him.

“They must not like it here in this ravine for some reason,” said Harry. “Are you ok to fly the rest of the way down? I’ve got to go back for the others.”

Ron nodded. His face was swollen with dozens of tiny burns and bites, and he could barely open his eyes. He headed down, and Harry headed up.

Hermione and Ginny had managed to come down on their own, and Ginny had even gone back up to help Luna, so they were ok. Neville had tried to fly away from the lizards, so he was some distance off; but he’d given up and was huddled on his broomstick with his robes up over his head. Harry guided him down to the others in the ravine.

The wounds were, fortunately, not magical, and could be quickly healed. By the time Harry got back, the wizards had patched themselves up.

“Well, now we know what these flying lizards are about,” said Harry. “Nasty, aren’t they?”

“At least we don’t actually have to walk,” said Hermione. “As long as we fly along inside the ravine, we should be ok.”

They made much faster progress after that. The path climbed up and up for a long while, and they saw no other sign of plant, animal, or any other being. Finally, when the sun was almost at noon, they rounded a corner, and began to hear a strange rhythmic pounding far off.

“It’s like a metronome,” said Neville. “A really slow one.” There was a pound every ten seconds or so.

“I think I know what this must be,” said Ginny. “In Ozma of Oz they — yes, look there!”

Looming over the ravine was a massive iron giant. It was very crude in shape, with cylindrical legs, arms, and torso, and a head that was simplistic and round. It stood several stories high, and it was swinging a gigantic hammer. Every ten seconds or so it pounded the earth right where the path went through a narrow part of the ravine, so that it would be impossible to pass without coming into the arc of the descending hammer. When the hammer head struck, the earth shook, and the echoes of the strike reverberated throughout the mountains like a clap of thunder. By the time the echoes died, the hammer had risen over the giant’s head, started down, and was already about to strike again.

“Let’s land here and figure out what to do,” said Harry, but Ron was already flying up towards the giant.

“What on earth is he going to do now?” asked Hermione, sounding exasperated. Harry was a little relieved to hear he wasn’t the only one who thought Ron was being foolhardy.

“Going to Apparate past it,” Ron shouted back at them.

“Be careful!” cried Hermione. Harry gripped his broomstick nervously. Apparating had never been Ron’s strongest suit. It should be possible, though — the path beyond the giant was perfectly visible.

He watched Ron for a few moments, but he didn’t Disapparate; his broomstick just kept carrying him forward. Ron seemed to be having difficulty. He even took out his wand and tried waving it, but nothing continued to happen. At last Ron turned away from the giant and flew back towards them.

“Didn’t work!” he said.

“I’ll try,” said Hermione.

“It’s not going to work, I tell you,” said Ron grumpily, and sure enough, it didn’t. Hermione tried, closing her eyes to concentrate and flinching against the expected squeezing pressure of Apparating, but she failed as well.

“Is there some kind of anti-Apparating Jinx cast around here?” asked Neville.

“I suppose that would make sense,” said Harry grimly.

“Perhaps one of the elves could Apparate over there?” said Hermione. “They aren’t affected by anti-Apparating Jinxes.”

“Won’t do the rest of us much good,” said Ron.

“They could bring us over side-along, maybe,” said Harry. “Kreacher! Can you Apparate over to the other side of that giant?”

Kreacher squinted at the giant from his perch on Hagrid’s flying motorcycle, blinked a few times, looked surprised, blinked a few more times, and at last said, “No, Master! Kreacher can’t Apparate at all, it seems.”

“That’s weird!” said Luna. “I wonder why not?”

“Is there anything in the Oz books about people not being able to Apparate?” said Harry to Ginny.

“Well, they are Muggle books,” said Ginny, “so, not really. But come to think of it, I don’t remember anyone in the Oz books being able to Apparate. Even the most powerful sorcerers, like Glinda, have to travel using magical chariots and so on. Maybe Apparating isn’t possible in fairy countries?”

“Why would that be?” asked Hermione, furrowing her brow. “I thought magic was more powerful here, if anything.”

But none of them knew the answer to that.

“We’ll have to figure out something else,” said Harry.

Ron snapped his fingers, and headed back up towards the giant.

“Now what?” cried Harry, exasperated.

“Going to try Immobulus,” Ron shouted back at them.

“Ron, be careful,” shouted Ginny. “It’s not just a big machine, it’s magical!”

But Ron either didn’t hear them, or didn’t care. He flew as close as he dared to the giant hammer, taking care not to rise up above the top of the ravine, and stopped in midair, brandishing his wand.

“Immobulus!” he cried.

It didn’t work. The spell bolted from his wand and ricocheted off the giant’s body, glancing off the giant’s arm and speeding right back at Ron. He tried to duck his own spell and only barely got out of the way in time.

“Cripes,” said Ron. “Now what?”

“I suppose you could try the pearls,” said Luna. She had to speak loudly over the booming of the hammer. “Ron, with the blue pearl, are you strong enough to stop the giant’s hammer?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron. “But it’s grabbing hold of it that’s the trick. I don’t want to stand under it and try and grab it — I’m not suicidal.”

“Suppose you took the blue pearl and the pink pearl?” asked Harry. “Then you’d know the hammer couldn’t hurt you, and you might be strong enough to grab it and stop it.”

Ron looked panicked for a second. “What, me?” he said. But then he mastered himself. “Yeah, absolutely,” he said. “That’ll totally work. Give me the pink pearl, Harry.”

Harry handed him the pearl, but Hermione slapped his hand so that he almost dropped it.

“Are you nuts?” she said. “The King said the blue pearl made you strong as a giant, not stronger than a giant. And even if you were stronger, how can you get leverage? You might grab the hammer, and then what? You’ll just be carried up into the air and thrown a hundred miles away. Assuming the pink pearl doesn’t fly out of your pocket, and you aren’t crushed by the fall, you’ll be lost forever in these mountains.”

“Well what’s your clever idea, Hermione?” said Ron, sounding a little bitter, because he knew she was right.

“We’ll use the white pearl,” she said primly. She took it from her pocket and held it up to her ear for a moment.

“It says,’Seek a friend nearby,’” she said. She looked around the ravine, as if expecting to spot an old friend standing right there among the bare rocks.

“I don’t know what that means,” said Harry. “There’s obviously no one else here. There isn’t anywhere a mouse could hide in these rocks.”

Nevertheless they looked around for a few minutes, climbing up some of the rocky sides of the canyon and flying around a bit as well. Suddenly Ginny cried out, “Oh my goodness! Come look at this!”

“What is it?” asked Harry.

It was another mechanical man, this one much smaller — man-sized — and hidden away in a niche in the rocks. He was made of metal also, and he was rusted and grayed with age, so that he was the same color as the stone around him. He had a perfectly round body and a round head with a little bowler hat and a metal mustache, and his arms and legs were thin. His arms hung limply, and his legs had long since collapsed under him, so that his round body rested on the ground. He was completely inert.

“It’s Tiktok!” said Ginny excitedly. “It’s Tiktok, I know it is!”

“What’s Tiktok?” asked Harry.

“He’s like a — like a robot,” said Ginny. “A mechanical man, but much more sophisticated than the iron giant there. He can walk, and talk, and think. He’s clockwork.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s in great shape,” said Harry.

“That’s an understatement,” said Ron. “He looks like he’s been sitting rusting there for a hundred years.”

“I think a Reparo should fix him up,” said Ginny. “He’s mechanical, after all. Magical too, though, so it might not be enough to completely get him to work.”

“Do you think he really might be the ‘friend’ that the white pearl mentioned?” asked Hermione.

“Definitely,” said Ginny. “He was in Ozma of Oz as well. Dorothy rescued him by winding him up — there’s a key on a chain around his neck, you see? — and then he helped her defeat the Wheelers and the Nome King. And later on he got his own book, Tiktok of Oz.”

“So what do you suppose he’s doing here?” asked Neville.

“Let’s ask him,” said Ginny. She stood back a few paces, leveled her wand at the inert pile of metal, and cried, “Reparo!”

Harry whipped his wand out too, in case this mechanical man was not as friendly as Ginny assumed. Her magic swirled around the robot, causing a breeze that lifted ages of dust and rust off the form. Then, as if they were watching a time-lapse reverse of the process of decomposition, the metal began to brighten and take on a coppery sheen. The metal legs shifted, gently at first, and then clicked together, gathered under the body, and lifted it up to a standing position. There were clicks and clunks from within the man’s body and head, and a couple of springs and sproingggs, and then there he was, standing completely upright and gleaming golden-copper in the afternoon sun.

“All right,” said Ginny. She swallowed. “Tiktok! Is that you?”

The mechanical man stood there, completely silent and still.

“Oh, I’m an idiot,” said Ginny. “I’ve got to wind him up.”

She stepped boldly up and took the shining key from the man’s neck. The keyhole, it appeared, was on his back, and his back was to the rock, so she had to slide in next to him and reach around awkwardly.

“There’s a little plaque on his back,” she said. “It reads: Smith & Tinker's Patent Double-Action Extra-Responsive  
MECHANICAL MAN. Fitted With Our Special Clock-Work Attachment. Thinks, Speaks, Acts and Does Everything But Live. Manufactured Only at Our Works at Evna, Land of Ev. All Infringements Will Be Promptly Prosecuted According to Law.”  
“What on earth does all that mean?” asked Ron.  
“Advertisement and legal protections,” said Hermione. “But it sounds like something from the nineteenth century.”  
“There are three keyholes actually,” said Ginny. “One for his thoughts, one for his speech, and one for his action, his movements. I’ll do his thoughts first.”  
She started winding, and she turned and turned for about a minute. There was a gentle ticking and humming coming from the mechanical man now, just audible over the pounding of the giant’s hammer.

“There we go,” she said.

“He looks the same,” said Hagrid.

“Well, I guess he’s just thinking now,” said Ginny.

“I wonder what he’s thinking about?” asked Luna.

“I’ll wind up his speech, and he can tell us,” said Ginny. She started turning the key again, and the ticking and humming from within the man grew louder.

“All set,” she said.

“Ma-ny thanks!” said the mechanical man. His teeth moved without any other part of him moving at all, and there was no inflection in his voice: he spoke in a complete monotone. “You are ve-ry kind to wind me up, mad-am. I am Tik-tok. Who are you?”

“Well, I’m Ginny,” said Ginny. “I’m a witch, a human witch, not from around here. And these are my friends,” and she pointed out and named them each in turn.

“I am ve-ry pleased to meet all of you,” said Tiktok. “Thank you for wind-ing me up a-gain. It is good to be a-wake and a-live and see the sun.”

“How long were you there?” asked Ginny. “You were all rusted and fallen apart.”

“It must have been a ve-ry long time in-deed,” said Tiktok. “But I do not know how long it was, since I wound down and could not wind my-self up a-gain. How did you come to find me here?”

“We are journeying to the land of the Nome King,” said Ginny. “We were advised that it was the best way to reach the Land of Oz. We are going there to speak to Ozma, and to ask her to stop stealing magic from the wizards of our country.”

“I can-not be-lieve that Oz-ma would ever steal mag-ic,” said Tiktok. “First-ly, I do not think she knows how to do so. I have never seen her per-form such a feat. Sec-ond-ly, I do not think she would ev-er do such a thing. That would be steal-ing, and Oz-ma is a very kind prin-cess and would nev-er steal an-y-thing.”

“Nevertheless,” said Hermione, “the witches and wizards of our country are losing their magic, and we are told that Ozma is the one giving the orders. So we wish to speak with her.”

“I can-not help you get to Oz,” said Tiktok. “It lies a-cross the Dead-ly Des-ert, and the sands of that des-ert will turn an-y liv-ing thing to dust. I could walk a-cross it my-self, and per-haps car-ry one or two of the small-er mem-bers of your comp-an-y, but the rest of you would die in-stant-ly. Al-so, there are blow-ing sands and dust storms so that ev-en that at-tempt would be ver-y dang-er-ous. — How-ev-er, I can help you reach the realm of the Nome King. You are ver-y close. If you wish to speak to him, you have on-ly to get past this gi-ant with the ham-mer. The Nome King will then im-med-i-ate-ly cap-ture you and you can eas-i-ly speak with him. How-ev-er, he will al-so not help you get to Oz. He will hold you pris-o-ner for-ev-er.”

Harry and the others looked at each other. “All we know,” said Harry, “is that the white pearl, which we were told always gives good advice, told us to go to the realm of the Nome King, and from there to Oz.”

“If you are speak-ing of the white pearl of Prince In-ga,” said Tiktok, “then I would ad-vise you to take its ad-vice. It has nev-er been wrong. My brains are clock-work and ver-y good ones I be-lieve, but I have been wrong some-times. But I have heard of the white pearl of Prince In-ga and if it says you should go to the land of the Nome King, then I would ad-vise you to do so.”

“It was the white pearl that told us to find you,” said Hermione. “Can you help us get past the giant?”

“I can try,” said Tiktok. “It used to be that one could get past the gi-ant by walk-ing right up to the place where the ham-mer falls, and then, when the ham-mer ris-es, step-ping quick-ly und-er it. How-ev-er, the Nome King has ver-y clev-er en-gin-eers, and they were ab-le to speed up the gi-ant’s ham-mer. It is still pos-sib-le to get und-er it by walk-ing, but you must be ver-y quick in-deed.”

“Is there another way?” asked Ginny.

“I am not sure. It is too bad that none of you are birds, for then it would be ver-y eas-y to ad-vise you what to do.”

“Well, we’re not birds,” said Ron, “but we can fly. We’ve got broomsticks. The problem is the flying lizards.”

“You can fly as witch-es do, on broom-sticks? Then it is sim-ple,” said Tiktok. “If you will wind up my ac-tion, Gin-ny, then I can help you.”

So Ginny turned and turned the key in his back, and Tiktok clicked and whirred and lurched out of his niche. He took a couple of steps and almost fell, for his body was round and very heavy and his legs quite thin, but he managed to balance himself. Then he carefully bowed very low.

“I must be un-used to walk-ing,” he said. “But my joints all ap-pear to be in ver-y good work-ing or-der. You have done an ex-cel-lent job of re-pair-ing me.”

“It was just a spell,” said Ginny. “A repair spell.”

“Ah!” said Tiktok. “I some-times wish I could do mag-ic as witch-es and wiz-ards do. It must be ver-y hand-y in-deed. Still, I have my clock-work which works ver-y well. I can-not com-plain. — Now, to get past the gi-ant, you must fly; but in or-der to fly, you must get past the fly-ing liz-ards. This is not dif-fi-cult once you know how. Is there some-one a-mong you who is good at in-sult-ing peo-ple?”

“What?” said Hermione.

“The liz-ards are quick to take of-fense,” said Tiktok. “If one of you stands to one side and shouts in-sults at them, they will swarm and at-tack them. The rest of you can then quick-ly fly to the oth-er side of the gi-ant with the ham-mer. Then, one of you on the oth-er side can start in-sult-ing the li-zards. While they swarm that per-son, then the one left be-hind can fly a-cross.”

Ron started laughing, then stopped when no one else joined in.

“What?” he said. “It wasn’t a joke?”

“I am sor-ry to say that I can-not joke,” said Tiktok. “My mak-ers, Smith and Tin-ker, were mar-vel-ous in-vent-ors, but they did not give me hum-or-ous clock-work.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Luna. “Not unlike the Uifrimin of Scotland. They’re a kind of pixie, I believe. You can attract them with cakes, whisky, or insults. Insults work best.”

“But the person shouting the insults is going to get completely swarmed,” said Ron.

“That is a dis-ad-vantage,” said Tiktok. “I would of-fer to do that my-self, since their bites and fire can-not harm my cop-per bod-y bad-ly, but while they are dis-trac-ted I will be gath-er-ing their eggs.”

“What? Why?” asked Neville.

“To help you es-cape the Nome King,” said Tiktok. “Eggs are poi-son-ous to Nomes. They are un-der-ground creat-ures, creat-ures of dark-ness and life-less-ness, and an egg con-tains more life than an-y-thing else I know. A sin-gle egg con-tains mil-lions of gen-er-a-tions of liv-ing things. It is a shame you do not have a chick-en, for chick-en eggs are most poi-son-ous of all to them.”

“Well, it’s ok,” said Harry. “I have the pink pearl, so the lizards can’t harm me.”

“It is ver-y good that you have the pink pearl,” said Tiktok. “The Nome King will not be a-ble to harm you. How-ev-er, he can still im-pris-on you for-ev-er.”

“We know,” said Harry grimly. “We’ll just have to figure that out when we get there.”

“Then we will use your plan to get past the giant,” said Hermione. “But Tiktok, will you come with us? You seem like someone who would be very helpful to have on our journey. You’re tough and strong and you know so much.”

“Also, he won’t eat our provisions,” said Ron approvingly.

“That is true,” said Tiktok. “I am ve-ry use-ful on ad-ven-tures be-cause my mak-ers, Smith and Tink-er, did an ex-cel-lent job. I am strong and loy-al and I do not need to sleep or eat, and I will run for-ev-er, as long as I am kept wound up. How-ev-er, I must stay here. I need to help my broth-er.”

“Your brother?” said Ginny. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“The gi-ant with the ham-mer,” said Tiktok, gesturing. “He was al-so made by Smith and Tink-er. He was not made with the same clock-work steel brains as my-self, and he can-not speak, and he thinks very lit-tle, and he can-not move, ex-cept to swing his ham-mer. He has a hard life, stand-ing here in this waste a-lone. Years ago, I was liv-ing in the Em-er-ald Ci-ty of Oz, and I lived in a pal-ace; and I had man-y friends and I went on man-y ad-ven-tures. My life was very good in-deed. And I thought to my-self that my broth-er should not be den-ied these things sim-ply be-cause he can-not think or talk or move as well as I can. So I came to this place to try to speak with him, to teach him to talk and may-be help him es-cape this slav-er-y.”

“Crikey,” said Ron. “That’s amazing. Did you make any headway?”

“Sad-ly, no,” said Tiktok. “I spoke with him until my speech ran down, then I walked a-round him un-til my ac-tion ran down, and then I stood and thought a-bout how I could help him un-til my thoughts ran down. But he is not made to talk or think or move a-round; it is not in his nature.”

“I’ve never heard anything so sad before in my life,” said Luna.

“Perhaps you could find Smith and Tinker?” asked Hermione. “Maybe they could… change his nature?”

“A-las, they are dead, or mis-sing,” said Tiktok. “Smith, who was a bril-liant art-ist, once paint-ed a riv-er that was so re-a-lis-tic that he fell in-to it and drowned. And Tink-er con-struct-ed a lad-der long e-nough to reach the moon, and climbed up, and pulled it up aft-er him-self. And I do not know if there ex-ists an-y-one clev-er e-nough to give the gi-ant speech and teach him to think a-bout an-y-thing but ham-mers.”

Harry noticed that Hagrid was sitting on the ground nearby, sobbing gently. He went over and put a hand on the big man’s arm.

“Are you ok, Hagrid?” he asked.

“Oh sure,” said Hagrid. “I’m fine really. Sorry, Harry. I was just thinking — you know, just thinking about old Grawp.”

“He’s ok, isn’t he?” asked Harry. “Isn’t he living in that house you helped him build at the edge of the forest?”

“Oh sure,” said Hagrid, wiping his eyes. “He’s doing great. It took a long time, you know, for him to learn, but he’s fine and it’s wonderful to have a brother. But I feel like I know what Tiktok is going through.”

“I wonder if he feels emotions?” asked Harry. “It seems like he’s just a robot.”

“It don’t matter if he feels the emotions,” said Hagrid. “It’s a sad situation, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully and turned back to the others.

“But whoever carries the pink pearl is impervious to the lizards as well,” Hermione was saying. “Harry, for example, could insult them and draw them away, instead of you. And then you could gather the eggs.”

“I be-lieve that would work,” said Tiktok.

“But don’t the flying lizards need those eggs?” said Luna. “That’s a bit cruel, isn’t it? I mean, with chicken eggs, they aren’t fertilized unless there’s a rooster around, so it doesn’t matter, but here you could really disrupt their population.”

“The fly-ing liz-ards were brought here man-y years a-go by the Nome King, to help pro-tect his king-dom,” said Tiktok. “They have no pre-da-tors in the a-re-a and in fact they would die out if the ser-vants of the Nome King did not come out and feed them reg-u-lar-ly. Look a-round: these moun-tains are life-less. There is no-thing for them to eat here. And be-sides, you will on-ly need a few eggs to scare the Nomes; and the fly-ing liz-ards lay thou-sands in their nests.”

“All right,” said Luna. “I’m sold. Let’s do this.”

“Harry,” whispered Hagrid, “do you think you might ask Mr Tiktok to gather me a few extra eggs?”

“Hagrid!” said Harry. “You’re not thinking of taking some home?”

“Oh, but they’d be very educational for the students,” said Hagrid. “You can’t deny that, Harry. I’m sure they’d be no trouble.”

“I’ll ask,” said Harry.

Under Tiktok’s direction, the wizards and elves got ready. Harry positioned himself on his broom hovering just below the edge of the cliff top. The rest of the wizards gathered in the ravine not far from where the giant’s hammer fell, ready to zip up and around it. Tiktok began carefully clambering up the rocks on the opposite side of the ravine from Harry, toward a cut in the rocks where the nest he was after was hidden.

Harry carefully watched Tiktok, waiting until the mechanical man was almost at the top, and then he launched himself up over the edge of the ravine.

Once again, he could see the flying lizards swarming around him — with some difficulty, since they were so small — but they didn’t harm him at all. He gritted his teeth and, feeling a bit ridiculous, tried to think of a terrible insult.

“Hey you!” he shouted. “You flying lizards! You’re a bunch of… a bunch of idiots! Um.” This was trickier than he’d thought. “You know,” he shouted, “uh… I was told you were really dangerous! Really scary! But it turns out you’re nothing! I can barely even see you!”

He paused, trying to see if there was any effect. Was the cloud around him getting a little thicker? He thought he could hear them, too, a slight buzzing. It was hard to tell over the pounding of the giant’s hammer.

“I mean, you’re nothing but a bunch of insects! I bet a hive of bees could just, you know, wipe you all out! Um. I bet a single bee could! I mean, at least they know how to use their stingers!”

Was he making any sense at all? He felt like such an idiot.

“Keep going, Harry!” shouted Neville from below. “You’re doing great!”

Hermione shushed him immediately — they were not to call attention to themselves. But Harry was grateful for the encouragement.

“You know,” said Harry, “there’s only one thing more pathetic than you, and that’s a flobberworm! You’re all basically flying flobberworms! I should catch some of you and use you as fishing bait!”

It was definitely having an effect. He seemed to be surrounded by a shimmering haze, with little black specks that darted everywhere, making his eyes water; and the humming was getting loud enough to fill his ears.

“Uh,” he said. “And another thing! Uh. You know what? I bet you’re not even good enough to use as bait! I bet any fish stupid enough to try and eat you would just spit you right out again!”

That was a terrible insult, he thought to himself. Terrible, as in, not very insulting at all. But it had definitely worked. He could no longer see anything but the haze in front of him. He thought he could hear some distant shouting, but mostly all he could hear was the swarm of lizards and the pounding of the hammer.

Now, the next part of the plan was for him to fly around the giant and land in the ravine on the other side. But… he couldn’t see anything. How was he going to fly back?

He began to panic, just a little.

Experimentally, he tried moving the broom forward. It seemed to work, as far as he could tell — it felt like he was moving — but he couldn’t see anything but the cloud of lizards; there was no way to be sure.

“Help!” he shouted. “I can’t see anything!”

He thought maybe he heard some shouting in reply, but he wasn’t sure.

None of them could fly up and help him, because of the lizards. Tiktok wouldn’t be hurt by the lizards, but he couldn’t fly. He’d have to figure this out himself.

Maybe the lizards would just… give up after a while?

But Harry didn’t think he could afford to wait that long. He racked his brains trying to think of a spell that would get him out of this. Incendio might work — it wouldn’t get all of them but maybe it would scare some of them off?

“Incendio!” he cried, and cast it directly in front of him. The jet of fire seemed to zip right through the cloud of lizards with almost no effect. If anything, the cloud became thicker, and the buzzing louder.

Ok, this was ridiculous, he thought. Think about it rationally. Ok. I have the pink pearl. Nothing can harm me, right? So even if I fly straight into a mountain, or crash into the ground, or run right into that giant’s hammer, I’ll be ok.

Although maybe my broomstick might get smashed.

So, ok, he’d avoid the hammer (surely he’d be able to hear if he got too close to that) and fly slowly enough so that even if he did hit the ground, the broomstick would probably be ok. He should just try to fly blind, to bring him around the giant and land him in the ravine. He just had to trust his sense of direction.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward, slowly moving the broomstick at what he hoped was a slow walking pace. Gradually, the sound of the hammer moved, starting ahead of him on the right, moving past him on the right, and after a long time, behind him to his right. Ok. Now he just needed to make it to the ravine. He angled the broomstick down and to the right, going even more slowly. He wasn’t sure where the ground was — it might have been rising on the other side of the giant, he wasn’t sure — and he stuck his legs out under him, hoping his feet would stop him before he hurt his broomstick. And hoping that the pink pearl would keep him from breaking his legs.

Abruptly the cloud of lizards disappeared, and he was in the ravine, dropping faster than he’d thought. He released his breath (he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it) and headed for the path below.

Where were the others?

He was definitely past the giant; he could see it just a couple of hundred yards back down the ravine, its back towards him, the hammer pounding relentlessly. But there was no sign of any of his friends, or Tiktok for that matter.

Were they still back there on the other side of the giant? Why? Hadn’t the plan worked?

He hopped back on his broomstick and started flying low through the ravine back towards the giant. That is, he tried to hop back on his broomstick, but something was stuck to his leg — he couldn’t lift it off the ground. He looked down and saw that one of the rocks seemed to have grown a hand and was gripping his ankle, gently but firmly.

He couldn’t help it: he screamed. And suddenly the rocks around him seemed to shift and swirl, and there were dozens of hands coming out of the rocks, reaching for him. Many of the rocks grew faces and eyes and mouths: distorted, uncanny faces, with misshapen features and horrible teeth.

Harry’s wand was out. “Incendio!” he cried without thinking. Of course, fire had no effect on stones. “Immobulus!” That seemed to work on one or two of them, but then it was too late: he was pulled down. Rock-hard, cold hands covered his mouth and eyes, the earth seemed to open up under him, and then there was nothing but darkness.


	10. The Nome King

**The Nome King**

Harry came to, his head pounding, his body shaking and shivering. He was lying face down on cold stone. He opened his eyes and it was dark — not utterly black, but far too dim to make out anything other than the floor he was lying on. He could hear low voices muttering and occasional hearty, high-pitched laughter. He tried to sit up, but the pounding in his head grew much worse, and dizziness struck him, and he fell back again.

“The Boy Who Lived has woken up!” cried the high-pitched voice. For a terrible moment Harry wondered if that were Voldemort’s voice… but no, it was actually too high, too fluting. It was almost childlike, and actually sounded quite pleasant and good-natured. Was it a house elf? He tried to look again, and found that his eyes were starting to adjust, but he couldn’t see much other than a few hazy figures standing nearby, and some kind of ruddy, fire-like glow a little further off. The voices were echoing slightly, as if they were in a large cavern.

“The famous Harry Potter!” cried the voice, and Harry was conscious of someone standing over him. “Such a pleasure, such an honor to meet you, young sir! And of course your very extraordinary companions. It really was terribly kind of you to come and visit.”

“What,” said Harry. He had tried to say “what did you do to me” but he ran out of breath.

“I must apologize for the rudeness with which you were brought to our caverns,” said the voice. “Allow me to help you up. Would you like some water?”

Harry felt a small hand grasp his firmly and gently lift him up to his knees. He shook his head to try and clear it, and blinked and looked around. He was holding the hand of a small, round elf, almost perfectly rotund, with twinkling eyes and a great flowing white beard. He was wearing a simple grey outfit, the color of granite, and had a long flowing white beard. His eyes were twinkling in the semidarkness, and he was holding a long, intricately carved stone pipe. It was as if he were confronted by the house elf version of Santa.

“Water would be good,” said Harry. He released the elf’s hand and stood up carefully. His feet seemed somewhat steadier now. “Where are my friends?”

The elf gestured expansively over to one side, where Harry could make out Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and the others sitting together on various pillows and blankets. They waved, but it was too dark to see their expressions.

“Are you ok, Harry?” asked Hermione, sounding worried.

“I’m ok,” said Harry. He came over and sat next to them. He could see now that they were indeed in the middle of a large cavern, and what little light there was was coming from some sort of large ball-like sculpture nearby, which glowed softly and redly, as if it were made of forge-hot iron. In the shadows around them he saw half-glimpsed figures and furtive motions; it was clear that there were many other elves — or Nomes — around them.

“Are you guys ok?” he asked.

“We’re all right,” said Ron. “The Nome King here gave us hot cocoa and biscuits, and he’s apologized for kidnapping us and whatnot.”

“You’re the Nome King?” asked Harry, turning to the round Nome again.

“I am,” said the Nome. “And this is my kingdom. And if you are all comfortable and somewhat rested and ready to talk, I would be most interested to hear what brings you here, and if there is anything I can do to make you happy.”

His smile was so pleasant and genuine Harry felt a surge of hope. Tiktok had warned them against the Nome King, and King Rinkitink had listed any number of terrible things the Nome King had tried to do to him and his friends, and the Nome King clearly was some kind of fairy or elf… But who knows? Maybe the Nome King just disliked Tiktok and Rinkitink for some reason. That didn’t mean that he would automatically be Harry’s enemy.

But it might not be wise to tell him the whole truth… Harry tried to think quickly.

“We are from a faraway country called Britain,” he said. “Our country is… suffering from a… curse. A curse. And we think Ozma of Oz may be responsible. We are trying to reach Oz and talk to her about this.”

The Nome King listened intently, nodded, then sighed and shook his head sadly.

“I wish I could tell you that such behavior would be out of character for Princess Ozma,” he said. “Unfortunately, she is well known for meddling in the affairs of other nations. Why, the very first time I ever met her, she marched an army into my kingdom and demanded that I give her some of my greatest treasures! And she attacked us with terrible weapons. I ended up giving her the tribute she demanded, and I barely escaped with my life.”

“She wasn’t demanding tribute!” said Ginny. “Those were —“ But Hermione shushed her.

“Ah, my dear young lady,” said the Nome King. “No doubt you have already heard Ozma’s side of the story. But I assure you I am speaking only the truth. The second time I encountered her, she cast a terrible spell of forgetfulness upon me, so that I was rendered as ignorant as a baby, and could not remember my family or even my own name. I had to relearn everything over the course of many years. Can there be any more terrible fate?”

“That does sound a bit like being struck squib,” whispered Luna. “Like forgetting how to use magic?”

“It’s lies,” said Ginny firmly. “I mean, technically it’s true, but — “

“So you will help us reach Oz?” asked Harry.

“Perhaps,” said the Nome King. “Any foe of Ozma’s is a friend of mine, I believe. If you truly intend to confront her and defeat her, then I am happy to help you in any way I can. But I have two worries. Well, not worries, perhaps — concerns, really.”

“And what are those?” asked Harry.

“Firstly, how do you intend to defeat Ozma? You must have some terribly strong magic at your disposal. You understand: she is probably the most powerful fairy in the world.”

Harry looked at the others. He, Ron, Hermione, and the others did have a lot of power between them. They had defeated Voldemort, hadn’t they? But they were only half a dozen wizards and house-elves, when you got right down to it. And Ozma was the ruler of an entire nation of fairies… who knew what she could do? For all they knew, they could arrive in Oz, and she would just wave a finger and strike them all squib at once.

“We know very little about her,” he admitted. “So first we will try to persuade her to stop what she is doing. But if she refuses, and we cannot defeat her by ourselves, we will return home and get more help.”

“We’ll come back with an army if we have to,” said Ron. “She can’t just go on striking people squib. That’s war, that is.”

The Nome King studied their faces and nodded slowly. “It might be wisest for you to save time and simply go back for your army now,” he said. “But who knows, my dears? Maybe you can convince her to leave you alone. But that brings me to my second concern. It seems to me that you have the means to go to Oz immediately, if you so chose. And yet you do not. Why?”

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione.

The Nome King gestured towards the Kreacher and Coddie. “Are these not subjects of Ozma? They are fairies, surely.”

Kreacher and Coddie looked at each other, and then looked at their feet.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry.

The Nome King’s eyes twinkled. “I believe that there are some things your friends have not been telling you,” he said. “Ask them if they have been in contact with Princess Ozma.”

“What?” said Harry.

Hermione rounded on Kreacher. “Have you been in contact with Ozma? Is this true?”

Kreacher’s face wrenched up into a terrible picture of guilt and shame. He shuffled his feet. “Kreacher hasn’t,” he said. “Hasn’t not.”

“Kreacher hasn’t not?” said Ron. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kreacher mumbled something inaudible. Coddie just stared at her feet, shaking.

“How have you been contacting her? What have you told her?” demanded Hermione. “And why didn’t you tell us about this?”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” cried Harry.

Kreacher dropped to his knees, raising his hands in entreaty. “Please, please, Kreacher meant no harm,” he wailed. “Harry Potter please forgive Kreacher. Ozma is his Princess, is everyone’s Princess. Of course we have to do as she says. Of course we have to tell her.”

“How did you contact her?” asked Hermione.

“Ozma’s Magic Picture,” said Kreacher miserably.

“Ah yes, the Magic Picture,” said the Nome King. He sighed, shook his head, and smiled ruefully. “She can see anything in the world, just by wishing it. One of the most powerful magical objects on Earth, or under it.”

“So she has known,” whispered Neville. “She has known everything. She knew we were coming, she knew that Rinkitink helped us, she knew everything.”

“Surprise,” said the Nome King, “was your only hope. One time I tried to gather some allies, to go to Oz to recapture some of the tribute she stole from me. I nearly succeeded, but only because I managed to keep our attack a secret. As soon as she found out about it, she defeated us easily. You, my friends, never had the element of surprise, because of these spies among you. I fear your journey is in vain.”

“But you said we had the means to travel to Oz already?” said Hermione. Her voice was shaking with fury. “Kreacher, is this true also?”

Kreacher dared not look at her; he groveled at her feet, whimpering. “It is true, it is true,” he said. “Please be not angry. It wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t do any good.”

“Explain!” said Hermione.

“Ozma’s Magic Belt,” said Kreacher.

“My Magic Belt, in fact, I think you’ll find,” said the Nome King. “Ozma stole it from me. The most powerful magical object in my possession. She threatened me with terrible weapons and removed it from my body as I lay helpless on the ground. As I said, I barely escaped with my life.”

“Those ‘terrible weapons’ were eggs!” cried Ginny. “Just eggs! Just hen’s eggs! She didn’t even bring them on purpose! And you were threatening to kill her and all her friends — “

“She marched an army into my kingdom!” said the Nome King.

“There were only twenty people in that army, and only one of them had a gun, and it didn’t even work right — “

“Not to mention that hen and that beastly mechanical man!” cried the Nome King, turning red with anger.

“Shut up!” said Hermione. “Kreacher! Explain!”

“Ozma’s Magic Belt,” said Kreacher, “can Apparate anyone or anything from one place to another, quick as a flash. Ozma could bring us all to Oz at any time. But Mistress, what good would that do? She would only capture you! We did not want that to happen.”

“It sounds like she could capture us at any time, if she wished,” said Neville.

“We are trying to get to Oz,” said Hermione. “We are trying to get to Oz to talk to Ozma. Don’t you understand that? That’s what this is all about.”

Kreacher lay on the ground sobbing. Coddie stood next to him, eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Look,” said Hermione coldly, “I just don’t understand at all. You can’t just go along with us, for days, spying on us and telling Ozma all about us, and not telling us anything. You need to pick a side. Either tell us everything you know, or just… just… just go away.”

The house elves just went on sobbing.

After a few minutes, Neville reached out and took Kreacher by the hand. “I don’t understand either,” he said, “but I know you’re doing the best you can.”

The expression of kindness made Kreacher sob even harder. He gripped Neville’s robes with his tiny bony fingers, buried his face in them, and wept with great wracking heaves.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, “but I agree with Hermione. If you guys are giving information to Ozma, we can’t have you with us. You’re going to have to leave us.”

“Kreacher can’t leave,” whimpered the house elf, his voice muffled by Neville’s robes. “Kreacher can’t leave master.”

“You’re going to have to,” said Harry firmly.

“But where can we go?” asked Coddie miserably.

“Go somewhere safe,” said Ginny. “Find somewhere safe. Do you understand me? And wait for us.”

Coddie looked up at her, blinking her wet eyes slowly. She nodded.

“Come, Kreacher,” said Coddie, tapping Kreacher on the shoulder. Kreacher slowly composed himself, assisted by Neville gently stroking his old head. After a few minutes, he straightened up to something like attention, and bowed to them all.

“Kreacher and Coddie will go,” he said. “We will wait for you. Someplace safe.”

Coddie then looked up and away, seeming to see something invisible to the rest of them. She lifted one hand and crossed her fingers in an odd way. And the and Kreacher vanished away, with no warning, so sound, and no flash of light. One moment they were there; the next they were gone.

“I thought they couldn’t Apparate?” said Ron.

“My guess,” said the Nome King, “is that they have simply been rescued by the Princess Ozma, using my Magic Belt. No doubt they are even now being welcomed to the Emerald City.”

Hermione shook her head. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “I trusted them. I believed in them. And they were spying on us the whole time. Telling Ozma all about us.”

“I do believe they were doing the best they could,” said Neville loyally. “You could tell how sad they were.”

“If they were so sad about it, why not just, you know, not do what Ozma said?” said Ron. “Why are they so loyal to her?”

“So she can see everything we’re doing?” said Hermione. “And just Apparate people wherever she wants? How can you fight against someone like that?”

“We’re not trying to fight Ozma,” said Ginny firmly. “We need to talk to her. We need to see why she’s doing this. She’s not an evil person. She’s powerful, but not evil. She must have some reason.”

“Then why doesn’t she just come here and tell us?” asked Ron. “Good people don’t just steal peoples’ magical powers, without any warning. Without at least, you know, a note or a card or something.”

“Right!” said Hermione. “Even the utility company gives you a month’s notice before they shut off your power.”

“What are you on about?” said Ron. “Is that a Muggle thing? Muggles have powers that can be shut off?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Hermione.

The Nome King shook his head sadly. “It is clear that you humans have much to learn about fairies,” he said. “And the Princess Ozma is a very, very powerful and dangerous enemy, as I have often discovered. In fact, it was foolhardy of Rinkitink to give you aid and advice, for he may have made himself a target of Ozma’s wrath. I myself may be in danger if I help you any further. Nevertheless, I may be able to give you some small assistance.”

“How?” asked Hermione.

“I dare not say anything further here. But follow me.”

He gestured to a few of his servants to accompany him, and the wizards gathered themselves up from the floor and followed them to a large opening at the edge of the cavern. They went into a wide tunnel sloping gently downward. Here it became even darker, with only the occasional dim glowing ember embedded in the walls to light their way.

“Where are we going?” asked Harry, but the Nome King did not answer. He led them in silence for many minutes, through many twists and turns in the passage, turning left or right at various intersections, until he arrived at a dead end. There was a large metal door here, with a huge wheel in the center of it. Three of the Nome King’s servants took hold of the wheel and, with evident effort, turned it slowly, and they could hear clicks and thumps as locks and tumblers unlatched themselves. Then the door swung open, revealing an utterly black area beyond. The air from within was cold, and seemed stale and dusty and dry, like a tomb.

Wordlessly, the Nome King gestured for them to follow him in. Two of his servants brought glowing embers with them for light, and a couple of wizards lit their wands for good measure. Then the servants closed the door behind them.

At last the Nome King spoke. “I believe this tunnel is safe from Ozma’s Magic Picture,” he said. “I have worked for many decades to develop magic to counteract hers, and I think I have succeeded. There is no way to be sure, of course. But I think we are safe here from being overheard.”

He smiled and tapped the tunnel wall, looking proud of his handiwork. “Over the course of many months, my loyal Nomes dug this tunnel out of the bedrock under my kingdom. The tunnel leads under the Deadly Desert, under the Land of Oz, directly to the Emerald City itself. In fact, it emerges under the garden outside Ozma’s Palace. I had it dug so that we — the Nomes and our powerful allies — could march into Oz and have our vengeance on Ozma for the tribute and treasure she stole from us.”

“When will you attack?” asked Ron. “Are you ready now?”

The Nome King laughed bitterly. “No, we attacked nearly one hundred years ago,” he said. “Thousands of Nomes, and thousands of our allies, the Whimsies, the Growleywogs, and the Phanfasms, all marched through this tunnel, and would have easily conquered Oz; but Ozma was too wily for us. She filled this tunnel with dust, so that we were incredibly thirsty when we arrived. And so when we emerged from the ground, we drank immediately from the nearest palace fountain. That fountain, unfortunately, was the Fountain of Oblivion. As I mentioned to you before, I forgot everything I had ever known. I was easily tricked into ordering all our armies back home again, and she blocked the tunnel.”

“That’s horrible,” said Hermione.

“Well, at least you weren’t destroyed,” said Luna. “It sounds like her magic is incredibly powerful. She might have killed you all.”

“Well, no,” said the Nome King. “We are immortal beings; we cannot be killed. It really was the easiest way for her to be rid of us. I’m sure she would have killed us all if she could have. But the important thing, my friends,” he said, “is that this tunnel still exists. It goes exactly where you need to go. It takes you safely under the Deadly Desert, directly to the heart of Ozma’s realm. It remains dusty, for it is a magical dust that cannot be dispelled; but I can of course provide you with water and provisions for the trip. It should only take a few days. And if my magic works as I think it will, you will be invisible from Ozma’s Magic Picture, so you will arrive undetected. You will only need to crack through the blocked opening, and you will take the Princess completely by surprise.”

Harry looked at the others. They seemed uncertain, but also excited and determined.

“Sounds perfect,” said Harry. He gripped his wand firmly. “Let’s get started.”


	11. The Deadly Dust

**The Deadly Dust**

  
They did not know what time it was, underground in the darkness, and the Nome King had no idea either. But they were feeling rather tired, so they decided to rest a bit and eat before continuing on in the tunnel.

The Nome King gave them small hard cakes of mashed nuts and fruits and plenty of good clean water. It was simple food, but it would keep them going for days. Then the King shook hands with them all, and wished them the very best of luck.

“I am afraid I will have to lock the door behind you,” said the Nome King. “Otherwise the spell that protects you from the Magic Picture will not work. But if you need assistance, simply knock and my servants will be happy to let you out.”

Then he bowed deeply to them. “If you defeat the Princess Ozma,” he said, “I and my Nomes will be forever in your debt.”

He then marched out. His Nomes followed, leaving them alone in the tunnel. When the door closed and locked, the noise of it resounded down the tunnel, echoing far into the hollow darkness ahead.

It was like being locked in a tomb.

“I don’t feel really great about this,” said Neville.

“Hermione,” said Harry, “could you ask the white pearl if this is what we should be doing?”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it, mate?” asked Ron.

“I didn’t want to mention the pearls where the Nome King could hear us,” said Harry. “Hopefully, if we need to get out again, the white pearl can advise us on what to do.”

Hermione nodded and took the pearl from her pocket. “What should we do now?” she asked, and then held the pearl to her ear. She listened, then nodded. “We should go through the tunnel,” she said simply. “I guess we’re on the right track.”

So they did their best to put their misgivings out of their heads. They needed to rest and recuperate, and then march to Oz as quickly as possible.

It was going to be rough. Even sitting on the tunnel floor, resting and sipping the water, the dust in the air was pervasive and irritating, and scratched continually at their throats and eyes. Fortunately, they were probably going to be able to fly along the tunnel: it was quite wide and tall, obviously built to allow the passage of a mighty army.

“Maybe, if we can fly fast enough, it will only take a couple of days,” said Hermione.

“It’ll still be brutal,” said Ron. “I feel like I’m breathing sandpaper.” He was continually blinking and coughing and sniffling.

“I wish we really knew how far we could trust the Nome King,” said Luna. “Does this tunnel really go to the Emerald City?”

“According to the books,” said Ginny, “the King really did build the tunnel, and he tried to march on Oz, just as he said. The difference, of course, was that he was trying to conquer Oz because Ozma had freed his slaves.”

“His slaves?”

“Yes, that ‘tribute and treasure’ he kept going on about were slaves. The Queen of Ev, and her children. Ozma had demanded that he give them up. In fact, she offered to pay him for their freedom. He refused, and tried to enslave Ozma in turn. Ozma only escaped because Dorothy had brought along a hen…”

“You realize this sounds mental,” said Ron.

“Well, those are the facts,” said Ginny.

“As recorded by an American children’s book author a hundred years ago,” said Hermione. “It’s hard to know what to believe.”

“If half of what we’ve been told is true,” said Neville, “we’re up against some amazingly powerful magic. Filling a whole tunnel with dust? Making someone forget everything, even their own name? Transporting people from anywhere in the world?”

“And Ozma isn’t even the most powerful Sorceress in Oz,” said Ginny. “There’s Glinda, and the Wizard…”

“The Wizard of Oz?” asked Hermione. “Isn’t he a harmless old man?”

“At first,” said Ginny. “But in later books he returns to Oz, and starts learning real magic. By the last books he’s nearly as powerful as Glinda, and can do magic no one else can.”

“That’s great,” said Ron. “Just great. We are so screwed.”

“We just need to talk to Ozma,” insisted Ginny. “I’m still not sure this isn’t all just some terrible misunderstanding.”

They fell silent, eating and trying to rest. Hagrid kept looking around nervously, and his breath came in quick gasps. But he insisted he was fine. “Just a touch of claustrophobia,” he said. “It feels like the walls are… they… Never mind. I’ll be ok once we start moving.”

“Right, let’s go,” said Harry. “I can’t just sit here anymore.”

                                                                                                    

It was difficult, but not impossible. It was very hard to breathe at broomstick speeds, and their eyes watered up quickly, but they were able to cast Protego as a permanent shield ahead of them as they flew. They also cast Lumos, although there wasn’t much to see except the walls.

They went on in silence for a few hours, then stopped to take a break and drink some water.

“It’s exhausting,” said Neville. “It’s not hard, but it wears you down.” Everyone nodded silently, and sipped water. The Protego charms were protecting them from the dust, but the air was still terribly dry.

As they flew on, Harry kept turning over in his mind the argument with the house elves. He had to agree with Neville: they really seemed remorseful, and torn between their loyalty to the wizards and their loyalty to Ozma. But why were they loyal to Ozma at all? Harry just couldn’t understand it. He was from England, and was a subject of the Queen, he supposed, but he wouldn’t spy on his friends or feed information to the Queen if she were striking them squib. It just didn’t make any sense. But for that matter, the loyalty that house elves showed to wizarding families didn’t make much sense. Was it something genetic, maybe? Were they indoctrinated from birth? He realized he knew almost nothing about house elf family life or education. Did they have their own schools? Was there a house-elf Hogwarts somewhere?…

…Was the dust getting worse? Or was he just getting tired? … No, the dust was definitely getting worse. The illumination of his wand, pointing ahead of him like a car headlight, was thick with glittering dust particles. And now, looking far ahead, it seemed that he could make out a dim white light. Could that be the end of the tunnel? Surely not — they couldn’t be more than halfway through it yet, and anyway the Nome King had said that the end of the tunnel had been covered over and blocked by Ozma.

He considered calling a halt, but decided to cautiously fly on a bit further first. There was no point in stopping until it was clearer what they were in for. The light grew slowly brighter for a while, and then suddenly started getting a lot brighter. It was as if there were a bright star at the end of the tunnel, getting closer and closer, as the dust got worse and worse.

Then everything resolved in Harry’s head. That had to be sunlight. Which meant that either the tunnel emerged up there, or there was some kind of hole in the ceiling or something. And they couldn’t be at the end of the tunnel yet. Which meant they were probably still under the Deadly Desert. Which would mean the dust they were flying through was actually desert sand that had fallen or blown into the tunnel.

“Stop!” he called out. “Everyone stop! But keep your shields up!”

They landed. Harry cast another Protego over them all, to make sure as little of the sand as possible reached them. Tiktok had said that anyone who touched the sands would turn instantly to dust…

“Everyone here?” he asked worriedly.

They were. “What d’you suppose that light is, Harry?” asked Hagrid.

“I think the tunnel has collapsed,” said Harry. “And I think the sands of the Deadly Desert are coming through and mixing with the dust in the tunnel. Ginny, is it true what Tiktok said? That anyone who touches the sand will turn to dust?”

Ginny frowned in thought. “Maybe,” she said. “The later books definitely say that in some places. On the other hand, in earlier books, people go out on the sand and don’t get hurt. So it’s hard to know which to believe.”

“Tiktok has actually crossed the desert,” pointed out Ron. “Maybe we’d best believe him.”

“We shouldn’t take any chances,” said Harry. “We’ve got to keep these shield charms going.”

“But what happens when we get to the tunnel collapse?” asked Neville.

“We’ll have to fly over the desert,” said Harry grimly. “Unless anyone has any better ideas.”

“I think that’s a terrible idea,” said Hermione. “Without the tunnel to guide us, how will we know where to go?”

“We need to just keep going in a straight line,” said Ginny. “According to the maps, the tunnel was completely straight.”

“That will be harder than you think,” said Hermione.

“We only have to make it to Oz itself,” said Ginny. “Once we’re across the desert, pretty much anyone we meet will be happy to guide us to the Emerald City. That’s what happens in the books.”

“And dust storms,” said Luna. “Remember, Tiktok said dust storms.”

“We’ll fly as high as we can,” said Harry. “That will hopefully give us better visibility anyway.”

“But the tunnel was the only thing protecting us from Ozma’s Magic Picture,” said Neville. “She’ll be able to see us.”

They looked at each other. No one said anything.

“She’s known about us this whole time,” said Harry. “She hasn’t tried to stop us. I don’t know why not. All we can do is keep trying to get to her.”

They nodded grimly.

“All right,” said Harry. “Everybody ready? Stay close!”

It felt like a very long time, but was probably only thirty minutes or so, before the steadily brightening sunlight surged to the brilliance of a summer’s day, and they could clearly make out the gaping hole in the top of the ceiling, and the wall of stone, rubble, and sand blocking the tunnel underneath. The sand, swirling and twisting in the sunlight from above, seemed almost alive, like ghostly tendrils or tentacles, reaching blindly out for them.

Harry ignored them. He had no choice but to trust Protego and the pink pearl. If those were not powerful enough — if he were about to be turned to dust — there was nothing he could do, except hope that it wouldn’t be painful.

Without slowing a bit — he wanted to get them all through the hole and gain altitude as quickly as he could — he guided the broomstick in a broad arc, swooping up over the rubble, through the hole, and popped out into blazing heat of the desert noon sun. All around him in every direction was utterly flat, yellow desert, like a concrete floor thickly dusted with dried mustard and cinnamon. The sky was a washed-out blue, almost white; and the horizon was crisp and sharp in the completely dry air. The landscape stretched out below like a bleached bone.

He risked a glance behind him. The hole was a completely black, jagged oval in the midst of the yellow and cinnamon sea. One by one each of the wizards popped out of the hole, Hagrid last on his motorcycle. They’d all made it.

He kept his broomstick climbing. It seemed to him, as he rose, that the sky became somewhat bluer. He took that as a hopeful sign that perhaps they were rising above the lower layers of sand and dust, up into the clearer air.

After a few minutes, just as he was starting to get quite cold, he saw the edge of the desert. It was indeed straight on in the direction of their travel, and appeared as a very dark line along the eastern horizon.

“There it is!” he cried. “I can see Oz! Follow me everybody!”

Of course they couldn’t hear him over the rushing of the thin air, but they could see him waving maniacally and they could follow him. He thought he could hear them cheering as they spotted it for themselves.

He didn’t pause, but headed straight for the dark line. The sun was just a bit past noon, best he could judge, so he guessed there was a good chance they might reach Oz by nightfall. He urged his broom faster, glancing behind him occasionally to make sure everyone was keeping up.

At first, of course, there was no change in the landscape as they flew (except that the black hole they’d emerged from was left far behind). The air remained dry and cold, and Harry was exhausted, but he was so glad to be out in the open with a goal in sight that he barely noticed it. Then, gradually, it seemed to Harry that the dark line was getting thicker and darker. Perhaps it was a line of very tall trees?

Suddenly he noticed there was another dark line on the horizon, this time off to his left, to the north. Had that been there the whole time? Certainly not, he would have noticed it before. Why would a new line appear on the horizon?

He watched it for a minute or two, and it was also clearly getting darker and thicker. Much more quickly than the other one. What could it be?

He heard Hermione shouting something indistinct, and turned to look. She was pointing at to the north and shouting. He couldn’t understand what she was saying…

And then he made it out. Dust storm.

A wall of dust, larger than nations and taller than mountains, was headed right for them.

Even if Protego kept them safe from the magical sand, kept them safe from being turned to dust or sand-blasted into skeletons, it couldn’t protect them from the wind. Would they be blown out of the sky? Knocked from their brooms, to fall hundreds of feet to their deaths? Would their charms be overwhelmed?

Could they make it back to the tunnel in time? — No. The storm was coming too fast.

Could they maybe fly over it? He had no idea how high broomsticks would go… But it might be their only chance.

“Up! Up!” he screamed, waving at the rest of them madly. They nodded; they understood. He banked up, still heading east, but trying to urge his stick higher and higher.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Up and up they went. But the storm seemed to increase its speed as it came. It was now quite clearly a wall: a boiling black and brown mass of churning sand, thousands of feet high, rolling towards them inexorably. He thought he could see lightning flashing in its depths. He could hear it, now, too: a roaring and hissing that shook the air.

He had no idea what else to do. There was no way to make a plan, no way to take cover. All they could do was keep flying up, and hope.

Almost instinctively, the seven of them clustered together. He glanced at the other’s faces, and saw fear and determination. “Keep your shields strong!” he shouted at them. “Don’t get knocked from your broom! Use the Gripping Charm to make sure you hold on! We’ll make it!”

Ten more minutes passed. The wall drew up above them like a great wave; its hissing and roaring filled the world.

Then it struck.


	12. The Silent Beast

**The Silent Beast**

Ron woke up first. He was lying on something prickly; it felt rather like a pile of hay. He opened his eyes and got up on all fours. It wasn’t hay; it was some kind of yellow-leafed bush. He shook his head to clear it and looked around.

He was in a thick shrub in the midst of an extremely yellow countryside. All around him, as far as he could see, were yellow fields of grass, with just the occasional shrub or tree to break up the yellow monotony. His personal shrub was somewhat flattened, and he imagined that must have been from when he plowed into it at high speeds. And there were the pieces of his broomstick, splinters half-buried in the branches. That figured.

He dug in his robes for his wand. Just his luck it would be broken too… no, thankfully it was fine. There was nothing more humiliating than asking Hermione to fix his wand again.

Amazing, really, that it had survived. The dust storm had been a whirling, spinning, yanking, bone-rattling ride, and he didn’t remember most of it. Perhaps he’d been knocked out by the force of the winds? But he didn’t seem to have been turned to dust by the desert’s sands, or indeed to have suffered much other damage, so the Protego spell must have held. He certainly didn’t remember landing — or rather, crashing — into this bush.

“Reparo,” he said, and his broomstick reassembled itself.

He looked around again. There was no sign of anyone else. He felt a jab of ice in his heart. What if they were all completely separated? How could he find them again?

He tried to stand up in the branches. “Hey!” he shouted. “Hey Harry! Ginny! Hermione! Hagrid!… Neville! Luna! Anyone there?”

He waited, but there was no answer. He tried calling out a few more times. It was amazing how quiet it was. There weren’t even any birds.

Finally he figured he’d hop on his broomstick and do a search pattern. Spiraling out from this bush, he could cover a lot of ground pretty quickly. They couldn’t have been scattered too far apart, could they?…

He found Hagrid pretty quickly. He was lying flat-out, spread-eagled, next to another bush. The motorcycle was lying in several pieces nearby. From above, Ron could see several deep gouges in the earth where the motorcycle and the huge man had struck, bounced, and scraped their way along the ground for a hundred yards before coming to rest.

“Hagrid! Hagrid!” he cried, landing and trying desperately to wake him up. He seemed to be mostly in one piece, but one leg was twisted under him in a bad way, and he was covered with scrapes and scratches. Hagrid made no response, except to moan like a dying hippo.

“Just a second, Hagrid, I’ll fix you up,” said Ron. Years ago he might have doubted his ability to heal injuries, even regular non-magical ones like these, but he’d had plenty of practice in his years as an Auror. With a great heave — but with barely any effort, since he still had the blue pearl to help him — he straightened out Hagrid’s leg, causing Hagrid to bellow in pain. Then, with a flick of his wand, Ron healed him right up. Another quick spell cleared up the scrapes and scratches. Hagrid took a deep breath and sat up.

“That was a good job,” he said. “You’ve gotten real good at those healing spells, Ron. Many thanks to ye.”

“Do you know where the others are?” asked Ron. “You’re the only one I’ve seen.”

“Nope,” said Hagrid, getting to his feet. “All I remember is hitting that storm, and then hitting the ground. Do you suppose we’re in Oz?”

“Must be,” said Ron. “Unless we got blown somewhere else entirely. We seem to be in the middle of nowhere. Just grassland.”

Hagrid looked sadly at his motorcycle. “Do you think you can do anything with this?” he said.

“Probably,” said Ron. “I mean, if Reparo can fix a broomstick, it can fix a flying motorbike, right?”

Hagrid looked doubtful, but Ron flicked his wand at the pieces and they immediately started joining up. Within a few seconds the bike had reassembled itself. The engine roared to life, and Hagrid jumped on it to turn it off.

When he did so, the silence dropped on them again, and they could hear someone screaming.

“Shut up! Shut up!” said the voice. “I’m trying to sleep! You’re giving me a headache! — Ow!”

It was Luna. Ron and Hagrid were able to quickly follow the sounds of the screams to a nearby bush, where she, like Ron, had also somehow managed to land; and her broomstick was in good shape. But she had a nasty bruise on her forehead and was clearly dizzy and not thinking straight. Fortunately it was just as easy for Ron to fix her up as it had been to help Hagrid.

“We haven’t been able to find the others,” said Ron. “But hopefully they’re nearby.”

“I don’t think so,” said Luna doubtfully. “They got separated from us pretty quickly.”

“How d’you know that?” asked Hagrid.

“I was awake for most of the storm,” she said. “I’d rubbed some of the Torquinia oil into the handle of my broomstick, do you remember?”

Ron and Hagrid shook their heads blankly.

“I specifically remember telling you as we were leaving Rinkitink,” she said, sounding a bit exasperated. “The Torquinia is an extremely rare insect from Anglesey. They always fly in such a way that their bodies move in a corkscrew fashion, but their heads remain perfectly still. It’s some kind of gyroscope thing. They can be ground up into an oil and it helps keep your broomstick steady. You don’t remember this at all?”

“I wish I’d been paying attention, that’s for sure,” said Ron. “So you weren’t tossed around by the storm?”

“Well, I was blown around, but not really tossed,” she said. “I was definitely kept upright. And I was able to keep track of everyone, for the most part. At least at first. And then there was this huge gust that separated you two from the others, and no one else saw, so I thought I should try to follow you and make sure you were ok.”

Ron was a bit rankled at the idea that he needed looking after by Luna, but he held his tongue.

“I was mostly able to stay close to you,” she said. “The storm carried us up to the edge of the desert and then sort of dumped us there. We were all out of control, though, and even though the dust was gone, the winds were still really strong. You two were tumbling over and over and falling towards the ground. I tried to catch up with you and cast Wingardium Leviosa, and I think I managed to guide your broom into that bush, Ron, but I couldn’t do anything for you, Hagrid — I think your motorcycle was too heavy. And then I wasn’t paying attention, and the wind caught me, and I think I yanked the broomstick or something… something hit my head, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Many thanks for trying, Luna,” said Hagrid. “I landed real close to that bush. And Ron was able to find me pretty quick and fix me up. Between the two of you, I’m sure you saved my life.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Ron. He tried not to feel bitter about it. Being saved by Luna! The sooner that was forgotten, the better. “Well, hopefully it won’t take too long to find the others. Do you have any idea where they might be?”

Luna shook her head and frowned. “No idea. I lost track of them. I’m pretty sure they escaped the storm, but other than that they could be anywhere.”

“If we had the white pearl,” said Hagrid, “we could just ask it.”

“Well, we don’t have it,” said Ron. “Anyway, I found you both by just flying a search pattern. I guess we should just keep doing that. But the three of us working together should be able to cover a lot more ground.”

“We have to make sure we don’t get separated, though,” said Luna. “We don’t have Ginny here, and we’re in Oz, the most powerful fairy country in the world. We have no idea what we’re liable to run into.”

Ron couldn’t argue with that. They worked out a modified spiral search pattern with the three of them flying in parallel about a hundred yards apart, well in sight and shouting distance. Ron figured they ought to be able to cover several square miles in every direction by nightfall.

It was a long, wearying ride, and as the sun began to set, they had seen no sign of any of the wizards, or indeed anything at all other than the endless grassland. Every once in a long while they saw an outcropping of rock, or one or two lonely trees huddled together against the wind, but otherwise it was utterly silent and empty. The size and silence of the landscape was stupefying.

As the sun was setting, they landed together not far from a cluster of stones. Ron had picked the spot because it was a little bit higher than the surrounding landscape, giving them a bit of a view of the countryside. As Luna unpacked and set up the tent, and Hagrid started a small cook fire, Ron used omnioculars to scan the horizon in every direction.

“There’s no sign of them at all,” he said at last. “They must have been blown miles and miles away. They could be anywhere.”

“Maybe it would be best to just start heading for the Emerald City,” said Luna. “We know that’s where we’re headed, anyway. We can just meet up with them there.”

“My father said that the muggles are developing some new kind of telephone,” said Ron. “One that you can carry in your pocket and talk with anyone in the world. Sure would be handy to have something like that now.”

Hagrid scoffed. “Sounds like magic to me,” he said. “The muggles’d never be that clever.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate them,” said Luna. “After all, they flew to the moon in 1969.”

“Oh, Luna, everyone knows that was a hoax,” said Ron. “They can’t even get broomsticks to fly. How could they get to the moon?”

Luna just rolled her eyes. “Never mind,” she said. “We obviously can’t get any further tonight. Let’s get some rest.”

They were just the usual Ministry-standard tents, nothing special. They joined Hagrid in his tent for dinner, since it was the largest, and Hagrid brewed up some foul black tea and a served them a surprisingly good potato and sausage pie. After dinner Ron tossed and turned a bit, worrying about Harry and Hermione and the others and running over the various ways he’d been embarrassed today, before finally falling asleep.

He didn’t sleep long. It was somehow too quiet. Shortly after dawn he got up and dressed and sat with a cup of tea at the door of his tent, watching the sunrise, waiting for the others to wake up. From the slight rise where they’d camped, he could see a long distance over the dry, nearly featureless yellow prairie. In the far distance it seemed that perhaps he could make out one or two bright points of light, like glints of metal. Could it be the Emerald City? That would be east of here…

Luna poked her head out of the tent, blinking blearily in the dawn light, and Ron nodded a greeting. She looked about to say something, but then she stopped, her mouth dropping open, staring past Ron with slowly widening eyes.

“What’s wrong?” asked Ron.

“Look in the rocks behind you,” she whispered.

Ron turned. Behind him, crouched there partially hidden by the stones, and utterly silent, was a beast as large as an elephant. It looked like a massive fox with golden-yellow and white fur, glassy black eyes, a stubby snout, and huge pointed ears; but instead of front legs it had giant leathery bat-wings. It was a giant golden fox-bat.

Ron screamed and his wand came up instinctively. “Immobilus!” he cried.

The creature blinked its huge eyes, and then opened its mouth wide as if it were going to scream back. But no sound came out. Instead Ron felt a wave of fear and horror come over him. It was the most terrible sensation of creeping terror he’d ever felt — as if someone were watching him from behind, and ants were crawling all over his back and his neck. He bellowed and turned to see who was watching him, but no one was there except, of course, Luna — and Hagrid, who had quickly staggered up out of his tent when he heard the scream. But Hagrid was on his knees with his hands over his ears, and Luna had fallen back, staring up at the fox-bat in terror. Ron could still feel the ants on his back, so he instinctively threw himself down and rolled in the grass.

For a minute or so Ron frantically turned around and around on the ground, trying to squish everything that he felt crawling on him. That seemed to help. Finally he stopped, breathing hard, and looked up at the fox-bat. Its mouth was closed and it was looking at him again. He couldn’t tell if it was about to attack or not.

What had happened? Ron had the feeling that it had used some kind of sonic attack — that it had made a noise so high, or so low, that it echoed in his body instead of his ears. It was a sound that could drive someone mad. It was not a creature to mess with, especially if regular magic didn’t work against it. But it hadn’t actually attacked yet, had it? Was it dangerous, or just defending itself?

Then it opened its mouth wide again, and this time its long needle-like teeth were dripping with saliva. That made its intentions pretty clear.

“Poor girl’s hungry,” Hagrid muttered. “No wonder, is it, nothing much to eat out here is there? Now what do bats eat?…”

Ron, frozen in fear, unable to take his eyes off the fox-bat’s teeth, heard Hagrid rummaging in a pack. “I know I packed some snacks…”

“Brilliant, Hagrid,” whispered Luna. Ron wanted to shout, “No, Hagrid! It’s probably a vampire bat! Look at those teeth! It wants fresh meat — us! Run! Attack!” But he still couldn’t move. It was as if his Immobilus spell had struck him instead.

“Here we are,” said Hagrid. “Fruit is what you big bats eat, ain’t it? Lucky I thought to bring some along. What d’you think of watermelon, eh?” Ron heard a soft thump that sounded like Hagrid had tossed a watermelon onto the stones in front of the fox-bat. The fox-bat cocked its head, and its huge ears twitched.

“An’ I’ve got a bunch of apples,” said Hagrid. “And these bananas. They’re kind of squished, I think I put ‘em down under the raw meat by accident, but they should taste fine…”

“Raw meat?” whispered Luna.

“Yeah, and roots and fungi,” said Hagrid. “I thought we might run into goblins, and need to win their trust. It’s what Griphook always liked to eat. Plus I had some lying around and I didn’t want to let it go bad while I was away.”

“Sure,” said Luna. “Makes perfect sense.” Ron couldn’t tell if she was serious. He was still shaking with fear, and couldn’t speak. What use was it to have the blue pearl if he was too afraid, or stunned or whatever, to move?

As they spoke, the fox-bat had leaned its head down — keeping its huge bat-wings wide open — and sniffed at the fruit. Then it began eating hungrily. At least, from where Ron was lying, it looked as though it was eating hungrily, based on what he could see of its head. But it still made no sound at all.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, took a deep breath, and gathered himself together. He couldn’t just lie on the ground being afraid all day. He stood up. Sure enough, the fox-bat had eaten all the fruit Hagrid had offered. It looked at Hagrid hungrily.

“More?” said Hagrid. “I think I’ve got some raisins. Trail mix. You like that? — Here, you want to eat it out of me hand?”

“Nope, nope, nope,” said Ron. “Stop that, stop that right there. That’s fine. Just — just put it on the ground there.”

“Aw, she’s just a big snuggly sweetheart,” said Hagrid. “Look at her, look at her big eyes.”

“Each eye is as big as my head, Hagrid,” Luna pointed out.

“She’s just a bit hungry is all,” said Hagrid. “Aren’t you, girl?”

“Yes,” said the bat-fox, in a whisper that was at once very quiet and yet seemed to permeate the air around them, vibrating at some deep level that made their bones shiver. It was the first audible sound it had made at all.

“You can talk?” said Luna.

“Yes,” said the beast, “although it has been many, many years since I have done so. I had almost forgotten how. I had to sit and think for a while before I was able to bring the memory of speech into my mind. I must thank you for the food you have offered me. I am indeed very hungry.”

“You like fruit, then?” asked Hagrid.

“Yes indeed,” said the fox-bat. “I will eat other things if I must, of course, and I was afraid I would have to eat you, since I have not had a meal for weeks and weeks, and I dislike killing things. It makes me feel terribly guilty. Fortunately the fruit you have given me will suffice for a little while.”

“How long?” asked Ron.

“At least a few hours,” said the fox-bat.

“Good, good,” said Ron. “Because” — and he screwed up his courage to speak boldly — “if you had attacked us, we might have been forced to kill you. And we dislike killing things.”

“It makes us feel guilty also,” said Luna.

“Then we are both fortunate,” said the fox-bat. Was that a twitch of a smile around the corners of its mouth? “Do you have any more fruit?” it said. “Otherwise, in a few hours, we will have to test our strengths, and each of us will be dead or ashamed.”

“I don’t think I have any more fruit,” said Hagrid, looking through his bags.

“Maybe we can find another solution,” said Luna. “We are on our way to the Emerald City, which lies to the east of here. I have heard they have a great deal of food there, and gardens which might be full of fruit. If you will fly with us there, we could give you some.”

“Really?” said the fox-bat. “And this food, this fruit, in the Emerald City, it all belongs to you?”

“Well,” said Luna, “not yet. But we are going to go and do battle with its current owner, Ozma of Oz. If you help us defeat her, then we can give you the fruit.”

Ron looked at Luna in amazement. That kind of solution would never have occurred to him. Or if it had, he would never have dared suggest it.

The fox-bat seemed to consider this. It licked its lips. “I believe I have heard of this young Ozma,” it said. “I would of course feel terrible if we had to hurt her. But perhaps, if we simply threaten her, she will give up her fruit without a fight.”

“It’s possible,” said Luna.

The fox-bat thought about this. “I am inclined to agree,” it said at last. “But before I do, perhaps you could tell me a bit more about yourselves and why you are trying to defeat Ozma? In return, I will tell you a bit about myself.”

“Certainly,” said Luna, and she launched immediately into a summary of who they were (mortal, non-fairy wizards), where they were from (“a rainy island on the other side of the world”), and how wizards had begun losing their powers, and they’d followed the hints of the house elves to deduce that Ozma was behind it.

“That all seems clear,” said the fox-bat. “If Ozma is responsible for this unprovoked attack, it’s clear you must confront her. Thank you. For my part, my name is Conca. I am a Hrerefus, which in your language would be a Thunderfox. Many years ago I lived in the far north of the world. My hearing is extremely good; I usually am awakened in the morning by the sound of the sun rising. I can also, by hearing, distinguish lies from the truth, because hollow, syrupy lies sound different from the clear bell of the truth. So I know that you have told me the truth, for which I thank you.”

“Of course,” said Luna.

“If you are from the far north,” said Ron, “what are you doing here? We are in the southern hemisphere, aren’t we?”

“I left the north many years ago, in search of a mate, for I was the last of my kind. I wandered all over the world, hoping that another Thunderfox would hear my calls. At last I was caught by a terrible storm and dropped here in this vast grassy wasteland. I was tired and had little to eat, and I didn’t know which way to go, and I was discouraged, so I remained here. I have not spoken to anyone in two hundred years.”

Conca spoke all this in the same deep, air-shaking, bone-humming whisper as before, slowly and almost emotionlessly. But when she finished, Hagrid wiped a tear from his eye.

“It’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard,” he said.

“Definitely up there,” said Ron.

“Your sympathy touches my heart,” said Conca. “You are beings of great compassion. Especially you, largest one: Hagrid was your name, yes? Your name and face remind me of my childhood in the far north. I will come with you to the Emerald City; and I will earnestly try all other alternatives before I am forced to eat you.”

“You’re all heart,” said Ron. “I feel super safe, super super safe.”

“I can hear that you are lying,” said Conca. “But I assure you, I will not eat you unless it is absolutely necessary. You have no reason to be afraid.”

“Great,” said Ron. “Let’s just get going.”


	13. The Emperor of the Winkies

******The Emperor of the Winkies**

 

      As the sun slowly rose up the sky ahead of them, they flew on and on to the east over the flat yellow landscape. Ron and Luna led the way, side by side on their broomsticks. Behind them, Hagrid powered forward on his motorcycle. And behind him came silent Conca, her huge bat wings beating with inexorable power.

 

They had no idea how long it would take. Without Ginny or the house elves or any other guides, they only knew the direction: east. So they flew towards the rising sun.

 

Gradually the landscape under them changed. Ron began seeing small canyons with running water and, along their banks, clusters of short trees with bright yellowish-green leaves. Somewhat later he saw cows, mostly white or pale beige, gathered under the trees to protect themselves from the heat. Then there were footpaths and narrow straight roads, and, around midmorning, he spotted the first farmhouse. At first he wasn’t sure what it was: it was more like a little rounded hill than a house, a perfect little yellowish-brown hemisphere, like a ball half-buried in sand. But as they flew over it he saw the line of windows around the outside, the doors, the kitchen gardens around it, and the children playing outside, pointing up at them in surprise. Within a few seconds they had left it far behind.

 

“Are we getting closer to the city?” asked Conca. She didn’t shout; she just spoke in that same low bone-shivering voice, and somehow it echoed clearly in their eardrums.

 

“No idea!” Ron shouted back. He had to shout over the rush of cold wind around them. “I hope so! All we can do is keep going!”

 

“I am getting somewhat hungry,” said Conca.

 

“Understood,” shouted Ron. He exchanged a meaningful grace with Luna, and they leaned forward, urging their broomsticks faster.

 

The farm houses came more and more frequently; and the land between them was no longer pasture, but planted with great swaths of golden grain and corn. The roads grew wider and better-traveled, with carts and wagons and people walking. No horses, Ron noticed. That was odd.

 

“What’s that?” cried Luna, pointing up ahead.

 

Ron squinted: it was difficult to see because the sun, though higher in the sky than it had been, was still right in their faces. But directly ahead there was something huge and glittering, a tall thin silver building rising up from the golden farmland, like a knitting needle plunged upright into a yellow quilt. Unlike the other buildings in this country, which were all one story tall, this was at least three or four stories, and as it resolved somewhat they could see it was a castle — a tall towering castle, with turrets and steeples and walls, all made out of the same glittering silver metal. It was surrounded by gardens and parkland, all beautifully laid out and organized in a very pleasing manner. It was still a few minutes away, but they would be right over it soon.

 

“Do you suppose it’s the Emerald City?” asked Luna.

 

“Maybe,” said Ron. “But isn’t the Emerald City supposed to be… green?”

 

“Do they have anything to eat?” asked Conca.

 

“Let’s land and find out,” said Ron. “Maybe they’ll at least be willing to part with some snacks. There’s a good place to set down right over there in that lawn near the entrance.”

 

They circled once or twice, losing altitude and slowing themselves, before dropping down into the grass. By the time they’d landed, they’d been spotted, and there were, of course, guards were running towards them. Ron hopped off the broomstick, made sure his wand was ready, and assessed his companions. Luna was next to him, wand out, ready to go; Hagrid was folding up his motorcycle; and Conca, the last to land, was holding her wings half-extended in a way that made her claws quite prominent, and her mouth was open, showing her sharp teeth.

 

The guards did not look particularly eager to engage them in battle, but slowed to a stop some distance away, spreading out to encircle them on the green. They were tall, strapping-looking men, dressed in what looked like steel armor, with steel swords and spears, wearing tall helmets with bright yellow plumes. Each soldier had a bright red badge pinned to their chests, right over their hearts.

 

After a moment of silence, Ron called out. “Hello there!” he said. “We are weary travelers, on our way to the Emerald City. We come in peace. We seek food and a place to rest before we continue our journey.”

 

“Nice, Ron,” said Luna, sounding genuinely impressed.

 

“What do you mean?” asked Ron.

 

“Well, a few years ago you might have just said, ‘Hi, I’m Ron, who’re you?’” she said. “You’ve gotten quite good at diplomacy.”

 

Ron was about to snap back a reply when one of the guards stepped forward to answer him. The guard bowed slightly.

 

“Welcome, travelers,” he said. “You have arrived at the Imperial Palace of his most brilliant highness, the Emperor of the Winkies. The Emperor will be delighted to see you and will help you in any way he can, for he welcomes all those who pass by. Please follow me into the castle, where you will be granted an audience shortly. — Pardon me for asking, but your companion — the…” The guard gestured at Conca.

 

“Conca is her name,” said Luna. “She’s a Thunderfox.”

 

“I fear she is too big to come into the castle,” said the guard. “But if she wishes, she is welcome to come round to the stable yard and enjoy whatever refreshment we can provide.”

 

“That will be very good,” thrummed Conca. She suffered herself to be led back around behind the castle out of sight, while Ron, Luna and Hagrid followed the guards towards the castle’s main entrance.

 

“So far they seem trustworthy,” whispered Ron to Luna and Hagrid. “But be on the lookout.”

 

The castle was remarkable: everything seemed to be made of chrome, steel, or silver. The floors were polished such that they might have been slippery, but soft unobtrusive straw woven rugs were laid out for them to walk on. The walls were of gleamingly polished silver, seeming to glow as if they were frozen moonlight. There were small steel statues along the hallway, and bas-relief sculptures set along the walls. The statues and sculptures showed many different versions of two or three characters: a lion, a farmer, some sort of robot man, and a little girl.

 

“It’s very kind of the Emperor to help us out,” said Ron.

 

“The Emperor is exceptionally kind-hearted,” said a guard. “In fact, he has the greatest, kindest heart of anyone in Oz.”

 

“Is that so?” said Ron.

 

“Yes, indeed,” said the guard. “It was made by the great Wizard of Oz himself. — Ah! Here we are!”

 

The guard threw back a curtain, and they entered a brilliantly shining throne room. High windows near the ceiling allowed sunlight to fall on the walls and floor, warming what might have been a cold, metallic room into a space that gleamed gold and silver. The room was long and decorated with silver and white tapestries, laced and edged with yellow, orange, and gold. A golden carpet led from their feet to the chrome steps of a dais, upon which was perched a tall silver throne. The effect was magnificent.

 

But not as magnificent as the Emperor himself, who was of course instantly recognizable. And as soon as he saw him, Ron was certain that all the silver, chrome and steel he had been seeing everywhere was, in fact, highly polished tin.

 

“Welcome! Welcome!” cried the Tin Woodman, rising from the throne and throwing his arms open in an expansive gesture. His body, limbs, and head were of course made entirely of tin, and he wore no clothes; instead, the tin of his body had been shaped to give the impression of clothing, with tin buttons down his front and his feet shaped into tin boots. His arms and legs were uncommonly thin, and his body was a perfectly round cylinder. His face was handsomely shaped from thin sheets of tin, and on his head was an ornate tin crown.

 

“I am always delighted to meet travelers. Travelers always have stories, and besides, they always need food, rest, and assistance. Nothing makes my heart gladder than to help people in need. Isn’t that so, friend Scarecrow?”

 

As he spoke, the Tin Woodman turned to his right, where, Ron now saw, another person was sitting in a small wooden chair a step or two down from the throne. It was a scarecrow: just a scarecrow in a simple blue farmer’s overalls with a blue and white checkered shirt and floppy farmer’s hat; and its face was a painted sack. For a moment it was motionless, and Ron thought it really might be just a scarecrow. But then it moved, rising awkwardly to its feet, its arms and legs wobbling and seeming to be barely under its control, and it spoke.

 

“Very true, Nick,” said the Scarecrow. “And although I do not have a heart myself, it also gives me great pleasure to assist travelers, for they are almost always in need of advice and wise counsel, which I am especially qualified to provide.”

 

“Oh my god,” said Luna. From the expression on her face, it seemed like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

 

“My dear young lady,” cried the Tin Woodman, and before Ron could react, he leapt from the dais down the steps to Luna, grasping her hand. “Are you well? You seem quite distraught.”

 

“No, I’m fine, really,” said Luna, but she seemed to reflexively recoil from the metallic man, and her eyes were fixed on his hands touching her skin — fixed in horror? Fascination?

 

“Here, be careful,” said Ron, moving to come between them.

 

“My apologies,” said the Tin Woodman, taking a step back. “I intended no harm, I assure you.”

 

“It’s ok,” said Luna. “I was, you know, startled, is all. I’ve never met a tin — a tin — ”

 

“Is it some kind of robot?” asked Hagrid, examining the tin man and scratching his beard. “Like Tiktok?”

 

“Certainly not,” said the Tin Woodman proudly. He thrust out his cylindrical chest. “I am alive. Tiktok is just a machine. As he would be the first to tell you.”

 

“He did go on about that,” said Ron.

 

“Wait, you have seen Tiktok?” cried the Scarecrow. He was trying to come down the stairs, but they were rather slippery and his progress was slow with his wobbly legs. “When did you see him? Where?”

 

“Near the realm of the Nome King,” said Luna. “He was almost rusted away.”

 

“Alas!” cried the Tin Woodman. “How my heart goes out to him, the poor fellow! Do you remember, friend Scarecrow? How he left us, decades ago, to find his brother?”

 

“Yes, I remember, Nick Chopper,” said the Scarecrow. “I was here when he told us goodbye, in this very chamber. Give me a hand, please?”

 

“Certainly, my friend,” said the Tin Woodman, assisting him down the last steps. “I thought my heart would break when he left us, though of course I completely understood his mission of mercy, to free the giant with the hammer. Had I a brother bound forever as a slave, I would have gone after him as well.”

 

“As would I, I hope,” said the Scarecrow. “But I told Tiktok it would be very hard to free his brother, because his brother didn’t have enough brains. He only knows how to stand and pound the ground; and he has no ability to learn or speak. How could he do anything else? I asked the Wizard of Oz if he would make brains for Tiktok’s brother, just as he had for me, but he said he did not have the skill.”

 

Hagrid blew his nose into his handkerchief. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have a brother myself. I know Tiktok’s brother would appreciate what you tried to do. It’s very kind of you, it really is.”

 

“And was the giant still there?” asked the Tin Woodman. “Or was Tiktok able to free him?”

 

“If my brains do not fail me,” said the Scarecrow, “I suspect he was not able to. Otherwise surely Tiktok would not have stayed near the realm of the Nome King. He would have brought the giant home to the Emerald City.”

 

“You’re right,” said Luna. “The giant and Tiktok are still both there.”

 

“Oh, it is too much!” cried the Tin Woodman. “I fear I will cry. Excuse me please.” He took a kerchief from his own pocket and dabbed his eyes. “I must take care,” he explained. “If I cry too much, the tears roll down my cheeks and rust my jaw closed. — Oh, poor Tiktok! Rusted away, standing there alone. I know very well how he must feel. I myself was rusted solid once — caught in a rainstorm. I stood there completely frozen for days — months — years!”

 

“Yes, it was Dorothy and I who saved you,” said the Scarecrow.

 

“My friend,” said the Tin Woodman to the Scarecrow, “you saved my life. And just as you saved me then, we and must go at once and save our friend Tiktok. At once! Where is my axe?”

 

“That’s not necessary,” said Luna. “We already saved him. The white pearl led us to him, and we saw he was broken and rusted, so we fixed him up. And he told us his story, and then helped us get past the giant with the hammer.”

 

“The pearl? What?” said the Tin Woodman.

 

“Just a minute, Nick,” said the Scarecrow. There was an odd, quizzical look on the scarecrow’s sackcloth face. He took a couple of uncertain steps toward Luna, examining her closely. Luna peered back at him curiously, in that open, innocent way she had.

 

“There is more to these people than meet the eye,” said the Scarecrow slowly. “Did you notice, Nick, that they are carrying broomsticks?”

 

“I did,” said the Tin Woodman, sounding a bit confused. “I wondered if they had been on a journey to clean something? Wandering janitors?”

 

“Possible,” admitted the Scarecrow, “but unlikely, I think. See, also, the robes they wear? And the wands they carry?”

 

“Yes,” said the Tin Woodman uncertainly. “What of it?”

 

“And you say you repaired Tiktok?” said the Scarecrow to Luna. “When he was completely broken and rusted?”

 

“Well, yes,” said Luna. She glanced at Ron, and then back at the Scarecrow.

 

“My friend,” said the Scarecrow to the Tin Woodman, “I’m afraid there’s no question in my mind. She is a witch.”

 

“Well, yeah,” said Luna. “We’d have told you, if you’d given us a chance to explain.”

 

“A good witch? Or a bad witch?” asked the Scarecrow.

 

“A good witch, of course,” snapped Luna. “What a rude question to ask!”

 

“If she did repair friend Tiktok,” said the Tin Woodman, “surely she is a good witch.”

 

The Scarecrow turned away from Luna and put his hand to his forehead. “I am sorry,” he said. “I have excellent brains, but sometimes, in order to operate most efficiently, it is best that I hear everything in just the order that it happened. Could you explain who you are, where you are from, and how you came to find and help Tiktok? And what you are doing here?”

 

So Luna gave them the whole story again, going into a bit more detail than she had with Conca. The Scarecrow asked a great many questions, and seemed to already know a lot about Rinkitink, the Nome King, and the elves. When she mentioned that Kreacher and Coddie had teleported away, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman exchanged a meaningful glance. Ron thought he knew what that meant, but decided not to mention anything just yet.

 

 When Luna finished, the Scarecrow walked back and forth, his face deeply furrowed in thought. “It’s very perplexing,” he said. “All the evidence suggests, as you have said, that the Princess Ozma is stealing magic away from your witches and wizards. But Ozma is a wise, gracious, and merciful ruler. It is difficult for me to imagine that she would do such a thing.”

 

“Do you remember,” said the Tin Woodman to the Scarecrow, “when the Munchkin lad, Ojo, was found guilty of picking a six-leaved clover? A terrible crime. And yet his punishment was simply to stay with the jailor, a wonderfully kind woman named Tollydiggle, for an evening. And Ozma forgave him in the morning.”

 

“Picking a six-leaved clover is a crime?” said Ron.

 

“Oh yes,” said the Scarecrow. “It is a potent ingredient in many magical potions, and so it is illegal to pick it or have it on your person. But Ojo did not know this, and so Ozma quickly forgave him.”

 

“Is it illegal to make potions?” asked Neville.

 

“It is indeed,” said the Scarecrow. “In fact, by order of Ozma of Oz, magic is completely illegal in this country. Except for that practiced by Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz.”

 

“All magic is illegal!” cried Ron.

 

“That is correct,” said the Scarecrow. “You must understand: magic is extremely potent in this country. Oz has been plagued by wicked and witches throughout its history — especially during the time that Ozma was imprisoned as a child by a wicked witch. And ever since Ozma instituted this law, we have been at peace. It is sometimes inconvenient, but in general the policy has been very popular.”

 

“But you’re magical beings yourselves,” said Luna. “Aren’t you illegal?”

 

“Of course not!” snorted the Scarecrow. “I can’t help the way we’re made. And it was a wicked witch that enchanted Nick’s axe in the first place. No, Ozma enforces the law very fairly.”

 

“But we are wizards,” said Ron. “We can’t just not do magic.”

 

“I’m afraid you must refrain, while you are in Oz,” said the Scarecrow. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Have you already used magic within our borders?”

 

“I guess,” said Ron. “But it was just heal injuries, and find my friends, and have a sheltered place to sleep…”

 

“Perfectly reasonable!” said the Tin Woodman.

 

“No doubt Ozma will forgive you, just as she forgave Ojo,” said the Scarecrow. “Now, it is true that when magical persons or beings act badly, Ozma does often punish them by removing their magical power. Remember Ugu the Shoemaker? And Co-ee-oh, the Queen of the Skeezers?”

 

“I do,” admitted the Tin Woodman, “although I also remember that they ended up being turned into a dove and a swan respectively. And the Wicked Witch of the West was melted, of course.”

 

“But the Wicked Witch was defeated by Dorothy, not Ozma,” pointed out the Scarecrow. “Ozma would not have melted the witch unless it were absolutely necessary. And she wouldn’t just randomly remove magic from people, especially not without warning.”

 

“Didn’t she lead an army against the Nome King to steal his treasure?” asked Ron.

 

The Scarecrow and Tin Woodman looked horrified. “Of course not!” cried the Scarecrow. “Is that what the Nome King claimed? No. The Nome King had enslaved the Queen of Ev and all her children, and turned them into ornaments in his underground palace. Princess Ozma marched her army to confront him, and offered to buy the Queen and her children from him. He refused. Ozma’s army consisted of only one private, and he was swiftly defeated by the Nome King’s army of thousands of Nomes. Ozma was able to free the Queen and her children by outwitting the Nome King and winning them in a game of chance — it is a long story — and even then, the Nome King might have captured us all and enslaved us as well, but fortunately we had brought some hen’s eggs with us, and were able to use them to escape.”

 

“It’s mad,” said Ron. “It all sounds mad. Do you hear yourself, mate?”

 

“Now, when the Nome King, seeking revenge, marched through the tunnel to conquer Oz, Ozma was able to trick him into drinking from the Fountain of Oblivion,” said the Tin Woodman. “And that removed his ability to do magic.”

 

“Yes, that was one of my cleverer ideas,” said the Scarecrow, obviously very proud. “It was I who suggested filling the tunnel with dust, to make the armies thirsty. But note, friend Nick, that the fountain did not actually remove the Nome King’s _ability_ to do magic. He simply forgot how. He was quickly able to re-learn his skills.”

 

“Also, he was not turned into a bird,” mused the tin man.

 

“True,” said the Scarecrow. “But, just in case — tell me, Luna, Ron, Hagrid, have any of your people been turned into fowl of any kind?”

 

“Not that I know of,” admitted Ron.

 

“And are you susceptible to being melted by water?” asked the Tin Woodman.

 

“Of course not,” said Luna. “I had a shower in my tent this morning.”

 

“I really cannot help but think there must be some terrible misunderstanding,” said the Scarecrow. “We will accompany you to the Emerald City immediately, and ask Ozma directly. I am certain that she is not responsible for this. And what is more, I am certain that she will want to do everything she can to assist you. — Nick, you and I require no sleep or food, so we are ready to leave immediately. But I am sure these travelers, being made of meat, would prefer a short rest and some food before they resume travel.”

 

“Of course!” cried the Tin Woodman. “How thoughtless of me to let you stand there talking all this time!” He clapped his tin hands together, and they rang like bells. “Please bring food for these travelers!” he said. “Whatever I have is yours, my friends. And while you eat, I will visit your friend, Conca the Thunderfox, and make sure she is well cared-for.”

 

The meal was simple but delicious, containing a number of different breads, a cornmeal dish, fresh vegetables, and fruit juices. It was not standard British fare, but Ron stomached it ok. Afterwards the wizards, Conca, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman gathered on the green lawn to organize the journey.

 

“How are you feeling, eh?” Hagrid asked Conca. “All fed and rested?”

 

“I am doing very well,” said Conca. When she finished speaking, the metal cylindrical torso of the Tin Woodman seemed to ring softly, as if harmonizing with her quiet voice. The tin man hastily placed his hands on his body to stop the sound. Conca leaned over and nuzzled against Hagrid, who laughed and reached up to scratch her huge ears.

 

“Does this mean you’ll be going back home to your… rocks?” said Ron.

 

“No indeed,” said Conca. “I only stayed in that waste because I was too weak to fly elsewhere. Your kindness has released me from that prison. I will now continue to search for a mate. If you are willing, I would like to continue with you.”

 

“Of course you can come with us!” said Hagrid immediately. Ron and Luna looked at each other and sighed.

 

“Unfortunately, the Scarecrow and I have no way of flying,” said the Tin Woodman. “And your broomsticks look too small to carry us comfortably behind you. But one of us might ride on that mechanical cart.”

 

“It’s a motorcycle,” said Hagrid. “And I’m happy to carry whoever’ll fit.”

 

“What about Conca’s back?” asked the Scarecrow.

 

“I am willing to carry one of you,” said Conca.

 

“I am by far the lighter burden,” said the Scarecrow. “I will ride Conca.”

 

So he climbed up onto her back, and several of the Winkie servants bound him tightly to her back with ropes so that he wouldn’t blow away, because his flimsy white straw-stuffed gloves weren’t much good for gripping. The Tin Woodman clambered up behind Hagrid, and they all took off.

 

The Tin Woodman knew exactly how to get to the Emerald City, so he and Hagrid flew in the lead, followed by Ron and Luna, with Conca and the Scarecrow again following behind. They followed a wide river that gently wound its way through the flat countryside, over vast fields of grain, wheat, corn, and bright yellow flowers.

 

The journey was uneventful, and continued for many hours. Ron often found his mind wandering, thinking about the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. What would it be like to be such a strangely-constructed person? Never having to eat or sleep? He wondered if the Scarecrow remembered being actually constructed, or if he was already put together when he was brought to life. He vaguely remembered the origin story of the Tin Woodman — that he had once been a flesh-and-blood man, but when his axe had been enchanted by the wicked witch, it had chopped off different parts of his body one by one; and he’d replaced each part with a tin fabrication, until at last he was entirely made of tin.

 

There was no kind of wizard magic that he’d ever heard of that could do something as amazing as that. The magic in this fairy country was much more powerful than anything he’d ever heard of before. He began to desperately hope that Ozma would indeed be on their side. But if magic was completely illegal in Oz, how likely was that to be the case?


	14. At the Emerald Gates

**At the Emerald Gates**

 

At last, as the sun began to set behind them, they spotted another gleaming star on the horizon ahead. This one had a definite greenish tinge. It had to be the Emerald City.

 

He saw that the Tin Woodman, riding up ahead behind Hagrid, was gesturing that they should land. Below them, the farmland had become less expansive and more like a crazy-quilt woven by a master of jigsaw puzzles, with small, irregularly-shaped farms clustered together, bordered by a mix of trees standing by little brooks. The farm houses were still shaped like half-buried balls, but there was now a mix of yellow, orange, forest green, and other earth tones. The great river they had been following was now very wide and slow, with many small boats and rafts plying it. The Tin Woodman was gesturing towards one particularly round orange house.

 

They landed in a pumpkin patch right by the house. Ron almost fell off his broom in surprise: the house was, in fact, a giant pumpkin, about the size of a one-room home. There were windows carved into it about halfway up, and a nicely made wooden door. In the doorway stood an extraordinary man — by far the most extraordinary man Ron had ever seen, and Ron had not exactly lived a sheltered life.

 

“Jack Pumpkinhead!” cried the Scarecrow, as the Tin Woodman worked to untie the ropes lashing him to Conca. “It is wonderful to see you! And how is your head today?”

 

“Quite well, thank you, your Majesty,” said the man. “It is quite fresh and I believe it has a good quantity of seeds, so I am feeling quite alert these days.”

 

The man was extremely tall and thin, dressed flamboyantly in purple and yellow. His head was a carved pumpkin, with the requisite triangular eyes and broad, jagged, permanent smile. As he approached, Ron could see that his body was made of carved wood, with long, twiggy fingers. As he walked he creaked and clicked with the sound of wood scraping and creaking.

 

“Thank you so much for visiting, your Majesty!” said Jack, shaking the Scarecrow’s hand. He turned his broad smile on each of them in turn. “And of course I recognize his Excellency, the Emperor of the Winkies. Who are these other new friends? Have I met them before? Sometimes my memory fails me when I have to change heads.”

 

“Jack calls me ‘your Majesty’ because I was King of Oz when we first met,” explained the Scarecrow. “That was before Ozma’s time. It’s a long story. In any case, Jack, this is Luna and Ron and Hagrid, mortal wizards who have traveled from the other side of the world to see Ozma. And their friend Conca, a Thunderfox.”

 

Jack bowed extremely low. “It is an honor to welcome such remarkable guests to my home!” he said.

 

Unfortunately he bowed too far, for his head slid gently off his neck — which was just a sharpened stick — and fell to the ground. Jack immediately stood up, hands waving madly, and began staggering around as if blind. Meanwhile his head, upside down on the ground, cried out, “My head! My head! Someone please help!”

 

Ron was closest and reacted quickest, and he picked up the pumpkin. Its eyes looked up at him and the mouth moved. “Is my head bruised or damaged? Please put my head back on!” it said, and Ron almost dropped it in shock. But he managed to hold onto it.

 

“Your head seems fine,” he said. “But you’ll need to stop running around if I’m going to give this back to you…”

 

The body promptly stopped and stood still, and Ron walked over and carefully stuck the head back on the man’s neck. Jack immediately reached up and adjusted his head slightly.

 

“Oh, that is a relief,” said Jack. “I am so grateful to you! I apologize for my awkward construction. But none of us can help the way we’re made.”

 

“How were you made, if I may ask?” said Luna. “I’ve never met anyone so… remarkably put together.”

 

“Yes, I believe I am unique,” said Jack, clearly proud of this distinction. “I was made by the Princess Ozma. She is my father.”

 

“Your… father?” asked Ron.

 

“Yes indeed. She made me when she was a young boy. You see, when she was a baby, she was stolen away by an evil witch and transformed into a boy so that she would be hidden. She was the rightful ruler of Oz, you see, but the Wizard had her hidden away so that he could rule. And while Ozma was a boy, he constructed me in order to scare the witch, as a prank. He fashioned me out of wood, dressed me, carved my first pumpkin head, and used the Powder of Life to bring me to life. After the Wizard left and the evil witch was defeated, he was transformed back into a Princess. But she will always be my father.”

 

Ron was staggered. He’d never heard of such powerful magic. Changing people’s sex? For years and years? He had never heard of a spell or potion that could do that. There was polyjuice potion, of course, but that changed you into a completely different person, and wore off quickly. And bringing something like Jack _to life_ — again, permanently! — It was astounding. And very worrying. If it did come to a fight with this Ozma, and whatever other witches and wizards she had on her side… it would clearly be hopeless.

 

“How many heads have you had?” asked Luna.

 

“One thousand, seven hundred and thirty three,” said Jack. “I was made almost one hundred years ago, and I have to change them every three or four weeks, you see. They spoil. — Which is why I grow my own, in this pumpkin patch. I am never far from my next head.”

 

Ron looked round the pumpkin patch in horror. He felt as though he were standing in a garden of faceless heads.

 

“Friend Jack,” said the Scarecrow, “we are nearly at the Emerald City now, but we have been flying all day and our mortal friends are quite hungry, I am sure. Could you provide them with some dinner before we resume our journey?”

 

Jack was delighted to help out. “I do not eat, of course,” he said, “but I do keep some food on hand for visitors.” He invited them in and offered them pumpkin bread, pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, and pumpkin juice. He also happened to have some apple jam and butter that had been left by a neighbor, and it was excellent on the pumpkin bread. Conca contented herself with sitting in the pumpkin patch, munching away.

 

“Jack, you are welcome to join us on our mission,” said the Scarecrow.

 

“It would be wonderful to visit with my father,” said Jack, “but I prefer not to travel much unless it is quite necessary. I am not very… sturdily constructed; and I have found that there are many, many things in the world which tend to spoil pumpkins rather quickly. But I wish you every success.”

 

“We do not have far to go,” said the Tin Woodman. “No more than another hour. It will be dark when we arrive, so I do not know if Ozma will see us immediately, since she sleeps, like other meat people. But no doubt she will provide accommodation for us for the night, and we will have audience with her in the morning.”

 

“We are hoping to meet up with our other friends in the Emerald City,” said Luna. “We don’t know if they will be there, but we hope so. It would be great if we located them as soon as possible.”

 

“Agreed,” said the Scarecrow. “When we arrive at the Emerald City, that will be our first priority.”

 

It didn’t take long before everyone was refreshed and ready to go again. They resumed their mounts, waved goodbye to the friendly pumpkinhead, and launched into the air.

 

It was much different, of course, flying over Oz in the dark. The many colors of the landscape were gone, and the ground was largely black, with only a few scattered lights from farmhouses and other buildings. The sky above was more brilliant with stars than Ron thought he’d ever seen before in his life, even at Hogwarts (which, at the best of times, was half covered with clouds and mist). It was somewhat difficult to see Hagrid ahead of them, but the sound of his motorcycle was easy to follow.

 

One thing that was very easy to see now was the Emerald City itself. It gleamed like a great pile of emeralds, glowing from within with a viridescent sheen, flooded with lights from the streets and buildings, with clusters of towers and turrets reaching near-skyscraper heights. Surrounding all of it was a tall green wall. As they drew closer, he could see that there were just a few large gates in the wall, with huge highways leading up to them.

 

It would be possible for them to fly right over the wall and into the city, but would that be wise? And wouldn’t it be most likely that Harry and the others would be waiting by the gates (assuming they were here)?

 

Suddenly he saw a burst of red sparks shooting up from the nearest gate. There was no mistaking it: Periculum, the wizards’ signal flare. The fire went up hundreds of feet, well above the height of their flight, and hovered above the spot. Ron saw Hagrid’s motorcycle turn and head down towards the gate, and he and Luna followed.

 

Periculum, a completely harmless spell, thought Ron. But someone had cast it right outside Ozma’s gates. Were the others being arrested even now?

 

But there they were: Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny, standing by the road that led up to gate, huge grins on their faces. It was so good to see them! Ron barely made it off his broom before Hermione had run up to give him a huge hug, and Harry was close behind her. Of course Neville and Ginny also needed to be hugged, and then Ron stood aside as Luna and Hagrid were greeted.

 

“Took you long enough!” said Harry.

 

“We ran into some folks,” said Ron. “Including some people you probably recognize…”

 

“The Scarecrow! And the Tin Woodman!” cried Ginny. She rushed forward as if to embrace them as well, and then, abruptly shy, hung back. Those two eminent personages bowed respectfully, removing their hats. They then shook hands all round.

 

“And this is Conca,” said Hagrid, gesturing to the silent Thunderfox. “She’s quiet but she’s a dear, once you get to know her.”

 

“How did you find us?” asked Ron.

 

“Well, we’ve got the white pearl, haven’t we?” said Hermione. “After we were separated, it said to simply go to the Emerald City and wait for you there.”

 

“And Ginny is an excellent guide,” said Neville. “She could tell we were in the yellow Winkie country and that we just needed to head east. It was a quiet, uneventful journey.”

 

“We’ve been waiting about half a day,” said Harry. “The pearl said you’d be here by nightfall.”

 

“That pearl is extremely handy,” said Ron. He looked up at the great gates, which were tall, surrounded by pillars decorated with sculpted ivy and climbing myrtle, and appeared to be made of some kind of green marble.

 

“What pearl is that?” asked the Scarecrow.

 

“The white pearl,” said Hermione. “It was given to us by King Rinkitink. He also gave us a blue and pink pearl. They have magical powers…”

 

“Yes, I have heard of them,” said the Scarecrow. “That was an extraordinary gift! The King must have thought very highly of you.”

 

“I think we’re about to need the white pearl again,” said Harry. “We’ve got a decision to make.”

 

“What’s that?” asked Ron.

 

“Well, are we just going to knock on the door? Ask politely to see Ozma? Or are we going to try and take her by surprise? Because, from what we’ve seen, if we expect to win in battle against her and her allies, surprise is the only hope we have.”

 

“You got that right,” said Ron. “Did you see that pumpkin-headed man she made? And she used to be a boy, did you know that?”

 

“What do you mean, she used to be a boy?” asked Hermione.

 

“Someone changed her permanently into a boy when she was a baby,” said Ron. “And then, years later, changed her back. She spent her whole childhood as a boy. I mean, what kind of magic can do that?”

 

“Wicked witch magic,” said Ginny. “That was Mombi, the Wicked Witch of the North. She’s not on Ozma’s side now.”

 

“What happened to her?”

 

“Glinda, the Good Witch of the South, made her drink a potion that removed all her magical powers.”

 

“Removed all her magical powers!” cried Hermione. “You mean made her into a squib! Just like what’s happening to the wizards in our country!”

 

“Well, yeah,” said Ginny doubtfully. “But Glinda is Good. I mean, it’s right there in her name.”

 

“Of course Ozma thinks she’s good,” said Harry. “That doesn’t mean she’ll be good to us.”

 

“And Ozma has outlawed all magic in Oz,” said Ron. “Did you know that?”

 

“Oh, I forgot about that,” said Ginny. “Yeah, I think she does that in the sixth book? She just had too many problems with wicked witches and wizards.”

 

“So any spell we cast breaks the law?” demanded Harry.

 

“Surely it is simple enough to not use magic,” said the Scarecrow. “You would only need it to defend yourself, and you are in no danger here.”

 

“I just cast a spell to show you where we were,” said Harry. “The flying sparks. Did you see it? Pretty handy, wasn’t it?”

 

“Nevertheless,” said the Scarecrow, but Ron interrupted him.

 

“That settles it,” said Ron. “We have to attack now and attack fast, before they take away all our powers.”

 

“Absolutely not,” declared the Tin Woodman. “Ozma is a good, sweet, and wise princess. And it is my duty, as Emperor of the Winkies, to defend her and her kingdom. If you make an enemy of her, you make an enemy of me.”

 

“And me!” cried the Scarecrow.

 

“And what magic do you have?” asked Neville.

 

“Well, none, to be completely truthful,” said the Tin Woodman. “But my axe is very sharp and quick.”

 

Neville flicked his wand. The Tin Woodman’s axe flew from his hands and landed harmlessly some distance away in the grass.

 

“Ah,” said the Tin Woodman, looking embarrassed.

 

“And you?” said Neville to the Scarecrow.

 

The Scarecrow looked chagrined. “My brains are widely admired,” he said, “but they are, I admit, not otherwise magical.”

 

“Hold on, hold on,” said Harry. “Let’s ask the white pearl, ok? I mean, it’s possible Ozma will be completely friendly and want to help us. There’s no reason to attack unless we have to.”

 

“Right,” said Hermione. “Hold on.”

 

She dug the pearl out of her bag and lifted it to her ear for a moment.

 

She frowned. “It says we should submit to Ozma,” she said.

 

“Submit? Submit?” cried Ron. “What does that mean?”

 

“If she’s going to ask us to submit, it doesn’t sound very friendly,” said Neville.

 

“It does not,” said Harry. “But let’s think this through. We can’t just —“

 

“The hell we can’t,” said Ron. Red rage was rising inside him. “Remember how the house elves betrayed us? Remember how the Wheelers tried to scare us? We’ve got to get them by surprise. We’ve got to show them we’re tough. Enough arguing, Harry!”

 

“No!” cried Ginny.

 

But Ron whirled toward the great gates. _“Alohomora!”_ he cried, jabbing his wand at them. A green bolt erupted from his wand and there was a tremendous boom as the gates began to move. Inch by inch they swung out towards the travelers, and they were forced to take several steps back to give them room. Beyond them was a brilliant pastel green light that made it difficult to see, but it appeared that several people were standing there.

 

Ron’s eyes adjusted after a moment or two, and he could see the people clearly. There was a tall, thin young woman with long red hair, wearing a white dress, and holding a golden wand. Next to her was a shorter young woman, perhaps a girl, with black hair, also wearing a white dress, but bearing a scepter topped with a circle, with a “Z” inside it — a symbol of Oz. On the other side of the tall woman was a short old man in a black suit, wearing a black top hat, and carrying a small bag.

 

The young girl stepped forward and pointed her scepter at them.

 

“Mortals,” she said, and her voice was youthful and beautiful, but clearly used to command. “Welcome to the Emerald City. I am Princess Ozma of Oz. I regret to tell you that you must be taken into custody and held until tomorrow, when your fate will be decided. Submit now, or my subjects, Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz, will capture you by force.”

 

“I don’t think so!” cried Ron. _“Expelliarmus!”_

 

Ozma’s scepter flew from her hand and clattered on the ground. At once Glinda lifted her arms, flicking her own wand, and Ron found himself hurled backward, falling with such force that he skidded back along the ground for several feet. His wand went flying and was lost somewhere in the dark behind him.

 

Battle was joined.


End file.
